The Rapture
by sandmanfan
Summary: Dean is not the only one making deals with demons - and they never end well. Lots of Hurt/Dean and big Protective/Sam.
1. Chapter 1 A big freaking girl's knife

So a brand new completed story in ten chapters. I'm going to try and post one chapter every other day, as I don't like to keep people waiting for updates, and a huge thanks to all those who reviewed my last story. You all made it a great experience to be posting on this site. Thank you!

The Rapture

Chapter 1 – A big freaking girl's knife!

_White Mountain National Forest_

_North New Hampshire, South West Maine._

_Monday, April 7__th__ 20:18pm _

ooooooo

"Well, definitely not the best hunt ever but by no means the worst, huh?"

Dean was feeling decidedly 'chipper' as he swung his legs into the driver's seat and settled next to his brother. All in all, a good day - no blood, no concussions, no police, and no one dead except the sucky creature-feature. Yeah, today was _definitely_ a good day.

Sam, on the other hand, sat distinctly 'un-chipper', a dark mood invading his features, eyes refusing to acknowledge his brother. He tensely focused on the dashboard as drops of thick, gloopy black mud clung to his bangs.

His voice was quiet, but razor sharp. "You _pushed_ me into that river, Dean."

"Yes I did, Sammy. Saved your life, too! No need to thank me by the way." Dean leaned forward and slapped his brother's chest with the back of his hand, then paused - as he examined the brown muck that stuck to his skin. He chanced a quick glance at his soaked passenger, and instantly regretted it. Boy, he did look pissed.

"I smell like a sewer." More of a growl this time.

"Yeah, well, wasn't exactly a piece of cake for me either y'know." Mildly uncomfortable, Dean cleared his throat. "Lost those two silver throwing knives when that werewolf went in the river." He let out an exaggerated, wistful sigh. "I loved those knives, dude."

"You '_stole_' those knives, Dean."

Putting on a dramatic show, Dean looked _deeply_ insulted. "Sammy, I _liberated_ those knives from someone who _didn't _appreciate them. And yes, you do smell like a sewer, but 'cos I'm such a great and fantastic big brother, I'm gonna let you ride in my car anyway."

He smiled, and then chewed at his bottom lip as he took one final look at the muddy mess that was Sam. "Um, just keep your ass on the towel okay? Mud's a bitch to get off the upholstery."

Glaring daggers at his brother, Sam made a slow and exaggerated movement to ensure none of him dared touch Dean's baby.

"Y'know Sammy…" Dean pointed and circled his finger in the general direction of Sam's face. "…some people say that mud's great for the skin." He tried his best wolfish grin but Sam remained silent, still glowering at a fixed point on the dash as Dean turned over the engine.

He tried again. "_Soooo,_ time for a motel. Get you cleaned up - good beer, good food, bad women...not necessarily in that order. What do you say bro, huh?"

_Nothing, Nada, Zilch. _

'The silent treatment, oh boy, so what are we now, an old married couple?' Dean gunned the engine as he pulled the big Chevy out onto the road, trying to decide how long would be an appropriate silence before he switched on the music. Okay, so desperate times call for desperate measures. Dean wracked his brain to think of something to do, to cheer his brother up. He remembered seeing a 'nice' looking bed and breakfast a few miles back - not their usual dive, but they could afford it for one night. And when they'd stopped for food, he'd seen Sam looking in an odd little second-hand shop window. There were lots of old knives in there; maybe they should go take a look.

'Oh Jeez,' Dean cringed inwardly at his own thoughtfulness. 'If we are an old married couple; _I'd just better be the dude!'_

oOo

_The Treasure Chest_

_Outskirts of Lancaster_

_Tuesday April 8__th__ 11:15am_

ooooooo

"Can I help you boys with anything, or are you just browsing?"

Dean glanced from the low cabinet to the small hunched old man behind the counter. "Just looking." He tapped the glass with a finger. "You got a _lot_ of knives in here."

"You interested in knives, son?"

"Collector." He'd used the lie so many times it tripped off his tongue like his best hook-up line.

"Well, it's your lucky day son, had a delivery just last week - load of stuff from a house clearance over on Pine. I do believe he was some sort of a collector, too. You should take a look." The old shop keeper had definitely perked up at the possibility of a genuine customer. With a new spring in his step, and without waiting for an answer, he bustled off into the back room where he could be heard, banging and clattering as the search for whatever he was looking for became a frenzy of activity.

Dean took advantage of the disturbance to watch his brother, taking note of Sam's smiling reflection as he leaned down and peered into another glass fronted cabinet. Dean was always on a high when Sam was happy; it was good to see, and it was about time. If he were to be honest, this last hunt had been way too close. He'd barely had time to push Sam out of the way before that werewolf made him its next meal. He'd seemed slower, not quite himself but Dean couldn't figure out why. _'Needs a break, that's all, and he'll be just fine.'_

The small corner shop was full of musty old books, parchments and assorted strange oddities - far more than should actually fit onto the narrow shelves, and Sam was definitely enjoying himself. He looked like a fat kid in a cake shop.

"Hey Dean, look at this."

He wandered over to where Sam stood, and looked over his brother's shoulder at the object of his attention. Under the glass protection he wasn't surprised to see another large, shinning blade. It was big, not quite a machete, and the metallic edges were narrower; tooled - but it was, without doubt, a knife created for a purpose.

"Yep, it's a big freaking knife, Sammy."

"I mean this." Sam gestured to the swirling, geometric patterns etched into both sides of the reflective, gleaming metal.

"Hmm. Pretty! So it's a big freaking _girl's_ knife." He planted his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder, and smiled wide. "Want me to buy it for you, sis?"

Mentally counting to ten, Sam sighed and pressed on, eyes still glued to the blade. "That - means something, Dean, I've seen it before, just not sure where, maybe in dad's journal."

Dean looked past his brother and noticed the shop keeper on his way back with the box of promised items. He whispered as he nudged Sam in the ribs with an elbow. "Bullshit detector in high gear dude, here he comes. Think he wants to sell us something, poor, deluded fool."

"Here we go gents; this was quite a haul if memory serves." The old man beamed at his potential customers, with an ever so slightly _hungry_ look in his eyes." Some pretty rare pieces in here, I think you'll find."

Sam pressed his finger to the glass and pointed to the etched blade. "Excuse me, sir, what can you tell me about this?"

The seller turned his attention to Sam and appeared truly delighted at the request. "You got a good eye, son, that's true workmanship; pretty rare too, won't find anything special as this anywhere round these parts." He removed the knife from the cabinet, and placed it carefully in Sam's outstretched hand.

Seeing the weapon up close, feeling the weight roll against his skin, Sam was mildly disappointed. It was nothing like the stout heavy hunting knives he was accustomed to, and it was an insulting excuse for Dean's Bowie. But there was something in the swirls, etched on the cold metal that caught in his mind. "Do you mind me asking where you got this from?"

"Hell, I don't remember son, that thing's been here _for ever_…" The shopkeeper let out a long wheezy chuckle. Then he seemed to remember he had a fish on a hook here, a fish that may just have a fat wallet in his pocket. He cleared his throat and composed himself. "What I mean to say is … this particular item is obviously very old, and would probably only appeal to an expert ….such as yourself."

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek and looked up at the ceiling, as though the rafters were the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life.

The salesman spoke with a twinge of desperation as he felt the sale slip through his fingers. "Course, if you're interested in finding out more, I do know of a local historian, bit of a weapons expert by all accounts. Can probably tell you all you want to know."

Sam appeared genuinely interested as he smiled at the old man. "Don't suppose you have a contact number do you. And, how much is something like this worth, anyway?"

_15 minutes later_

Dean marched down the street so fast even Sam's long legs were working overtime to keep up. "Dude, how many more times, we do not buy. We wait till night, and we_ borrow_? Hundred bucks for a knife, bro - that's just crazy."

Knowing his brother's anger was just for show; Sam didn't hesitate to goad him on. "Come on, Dean, like you couldn't make that back in ten minutes on the pool table."

Dean paused in his tracks just long enough to realise he'd been paid a compliment, but refusing to be sidetracked, he raised one hand. "Totally not the point, Sammy. True, but totally not the point."

Stopping dead, Sam grabbed his brothers' elbow, forcing him to a halt. "Dean while were on the subject, I am officially uncomfortable with us stealing weapons, especially from nice people trying to make a living."

"Noted, Sammy. From now on, we only_ liberate_ or _borrow_ weapons from deviant, underworld, low life types, just like us. You happy now?" Shrugging his arm gently out of his brother's grasp he started walking once again, this time a little slower.

oOo

_The Twilight Rest Bed & Breakfast Inn._

_Lancaster._

_Tuesday April 8th 19.10pm_

ooooooo

Dean tugged on his brown leather jacket and checked himself one last time in the small mirror by the door. "So, you really gonna spend the night talking to this knife expert, rather than wine, women and song, Sammy?"

"Thought you were planning on playing pool and making some money? Where's the wine, women and song come from?

Dean grabbed his keys and wallet, and smiled deviously at his brother. "Always be prepared for anything, bro, one of dad's favourite commandments. Or have you forgotten all of those, now that big old brains of yours is full of college speak?"

Sam looked up and couldn't help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm. "I don't think dad had alcohol and sex on his mind when he came up with that one."

"Don't you believe it, Sammy! I'm out of here; someone has to have some fun tonight. Later, bro."

As the door closed Sam checked his own wallet, he had money for a taxi and enough for a few beers once he got back. Picking up his jacket, he made his way out into the cool evening air and headed for the main road to hail a cab.

oOo

_The residence of Professor E. Mackenzie_

_263 West Grove, Lancaster._

_Tuesday April 8__th__ 20:00pm_

ooooooo

"Hello, Professor Mackenzie? My name's Sam. I phoned earlier, about the knife."

Sam stood on the polished doorstep and held out his hand to the distinguished, grey haired gentleman who opened the door. He was greeted with a wide, welcoming smile.

"Ah yes, please come right in, always nice to meet a colleague." He turned and led the way, gesturing for Sam to follow.

"I'm afraid I'm strictly an amateur, Professor, and I'm really just after some information." Once in the comfortable living room, Sam was directed to a huge overstuffed armchair.

"I was just making a hot drink, may I get you one?" The old man stood by the kitchen door and smiled, his twinkling blue eyes - appraising his visitor. He had a distinct air of confidence and order about him, much like some of the teachers at Stanford and Sam instantly liked him.

"Um, thank you, whatever you're making will be fine."

It only took a moment for him to return with two steaming mugs of bitter black coffee. Sitting on the other chair he brought the drink up to his nose and breathed deep, obviously enjoying the aroma. "So - Sam, is it? What can I do for you?"

Sam took a deep draught of the dark liquid, it tasted very good. "Well, as I explained on the phone, I've just bought an old knife from a local dealer, and it seems to be covered with very deliberate symbols. I wanted to find out what they mean." Sam reached into his pocked and withdrew a sheet of paper, covered in ornate, detailed designs. He held it out to the older man who took it eagerly.

"Hmm." Professor Mackenzie retrieved his glasses from the table next to his elbow, and putting them on, concentrated on the page in front of him. "Have you got the knife on you, by any chance?"

Sam took another gulp of coffee and shook his head. "No, I didn't think to bring it, sorry." He cringed inwardly at lying to the older man, but wasn't about to admit that his brother had forbidden him to bring it, as it was technically Dean's knife since he'd had to pay for it.

"That's a shame, but never mind."

Sam opened his mouth, about to say something, but suddenly realised he'd forgotten what it was. Trying to catch the errant thought, he became aware of a small and distant ache in his temples that hadn't been there a moment before. He looked at the floor; it wasn't as solid as it should've been. It squirmed under his feet, so he relaxed back in the chair, quickly, before he fell, allowing his body to settle into the overstuffed cushions. Raising his eyebrows, he blinked a few times to clear his head, and moved his lips to speak again, but his mouth was stuffed with cotton wool.

Professor Mackenzie was walking over to him, and Sam watched the triple image intently as he crouched on his haunches, and fixed his eyes on the younger man. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with pity. "Just relax Sam and close your eyes. This won't hurt a bit."

oOo

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 No 'skinny assed' chick

The Rapture

Chapter 2 – No 'skinny assed' chick.

_The Twilight Rest - Bed & Breakfast Inn. _

_Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 01.15am_

ooooooo

Dean wore a filthy smile as he walked up the narrow steps on his way back to the Inn. Was it Candy, or Candice? He really couldn't remember, and he didn't really care. He had other, more adventurous memories from that night to occupy his mind, and he was planning on sleeping very well, thank you very much with _those Candy cane memories_ to keep him company. He chuckled to himself, reaching deep in his pocket for the key.

Stopping sharply, he stared at the open door, immediately double stepping the rest of the way and swinging around, pressing his back against the wall. There was noise coming from inside the room; whoever was in there didn't know the meaning of the word stealth. Taking the glock from his waistband, he breathed deep, chancing a quick glance through the gap - and was amazed to see Sam, packing clothes into his duffle like there was no tomorrow.

"Sammy? What the hell?"

Pushing on the door with the butt of his gun and slowly stalking into the room, Dean stood and watched as his brother continued to stuff his jeans into the bag. He moved stiffly, each move slow and deliberate as though he was sleepwalking, and he'd nearly cleared the whole room of his belongings and was now starting on his brother's.

Sam didn't look up or even acknowledged the older hunter, but instead spoke slow, sounding strange, detached and emotionless. "Dean, we have to leave – now."

"What? Why?"

Bemused didn't begin to describe how Dean was feeling, he was at a loss. Was this the same brother who'd raved about the power shower and soft beds just hours ago? The same brother that had insisted they get up early, so they could try the 'in house restaurant, for a pancake breakfast?

"We have to leave, now, Dean." The same robotic voice.

"Dude, it's nearly half past one in the morning. We ain't going nowhere." He tried to reach out and take the bag off Sam, but he hung on like his life depended on it, until finally, Dean let go. Sam only stopped piling in their clothes when his brother walked up in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, hard. "Sammy, you'd better tell me what the hells going on, right now, dude, or so help me I will lock you in the closet till morning."

Staring through vacant, glazed eyes, Sam seemed to notice his brother for the first time. "Dean?"

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I…I don't know. Dean, um…I don't…feel too good."

Pushing him down on the nearby bed, Dean cupped Sam's head in his hands and looked at him in earnest. His skin was pale and drawn and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. But he'd been fine when he'd left. "What the hell! You'd better start at the beginning, Sammy, and don't leave anything out. What happened after I left you here?"

Sam closed both eyes, deep in thought, his voice quiet and small. "I don't remember…Dean, I…I can't remember anything, even checking into this room is kind of…hazy." He glanced around the room and shook his head slowly, thoroughly confused.

Dean dropped his chin and looked at the floor, then back to his brother. He hated the look of vulnerability written all over Sam's face, and was silently planning a number of ways to kill whoever had put it there. "You had the name and address of a weapons expert. You were _supposed_ to be heading out to see him. Do you remember that?"

Sam just shook his head and looked even more helpless.

"Dude, check your pockets."

Perking up at the suggestion, Sam searched his pockets and produced a hand written name and address on a post it note. "Um this could be it…I guess."

Dean took the scrap of paper, and started to read it aloud._ "Professor Earl Mackenzie, collector of antiquities and knives – _Mac, the knife expert. Dude, you're shitting me!"

Sam hadn't moved, he continued to look vacantly at his brother.

"Never mind, come on; got some questions to ask good old Mr '_Mac the knife'_." Holding on to the material of Sam's jacket he dragged him to his feet and wheeled him back out of the room, towards the waiting car.

Frowning darkly as he pulled out of the parking lot, Dean started the drive towards Professor Mackenzie's house. He had no idea what was going on, but he didn't like the fact that, clearly, someone had messed with his brother. And _no one_ messed with Sammy – unless they wanted to dance with Dean.

oOo

_The residence of Professor E. Mackenzie_

_263 West Grove, Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9th 02:00 am_

ooooooo

Slowing the car down to a crawl, Dean identified the address he was after four doors down the street. He pulled in to the curb and watched the subterfuge going on outside the building with interest.

A large, heavy set, blond man stood just outside the house with a petite brunette girl. She looked doped, not unlike Sam, sleepwalking rather than living, and was going along with the directions given to her without question. The man dragged her, none too gently, by the elbow and walked her to the side of a small red car parked right outside the house. Opening the back door, he pushed her head down, forcing her into the back seat. Just then another man, older and more distinguished looking, joined them. He ran a hand through grey hair, and looked left and right before climbing in behind the wheel. The larger man climbed in next to the girl and they slowly pulled away.

After a moment, Dean pulled away too, following, careful to keep a good distance. This situation was going from weird to worse in a bucket, and every 'spidey' sense he possessed was tingling. That girl didn't look like she belonged with those two goons and whatever was going on here, must have something to do with what'd happened to Sam. And he was gonna find out what that was.

oOo

_Municipal Library_

_Main Street, Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9th 02:45 am_

ooooooo

The Impala slid to a halt sending up a spray of muddy water from a large puddle at the curb. Dean stopped far enough from Mac's car not to be seen and checked his glock, stashing a spare clip in his pocket as he looked at the large, imposing library in front of them. It was one of the older buildings in the area, all grey stone slab rather than brick, and huge; stretching up into the night like a monolith.

"You stay here. Okay?" When he got no answer he turned and looked at Sam, his brother still staring out of the car window into the dark. "Dude, _stay here, do NOT leave the car, you got that?!"_

"Hmmmm." Sam just continued to concentrate absentmindedly at a point in the distance, too distracted to notice or hear anything around him. Dean didn't want to leave his brother like this, but he'd no choice. There was no way he was going to take Sam into the middle of the unknown, not the way he was acting.

Making sure Sam's seat belt was fastened and his door locked, Dean got out of the car and made his way to the entrance he'd seen the two men and the girl go through. He skulked around the outside of the building, keeping to the shadows as the streetlight illuminated the road. Then, a sudden movement through the basement window caught his attention. People were moving around in the underground room, but he couldn't make out much more. He'd need to get in there. Dean took one last look at his brother, the younger man still sitting peacefully in the passenger seat, before he began to work his way round the side of the building and the door he'd seen before.

Suddenly, a low rattle and he watched the side door open. A man exited before quietly closing it behind him, and as soon as he'd disappeared round the corner and out of sight, Dean took out his pick and made short work of the lock.

Tentatively, he moved through the small corridor and looked into a long, empty vault. Crouching by the large door, he made sure the room was empty, and then slowly made his way into the long hall. It was heavily decorated, clearly having been set for some kind of ritual. Candles were lit and placed in sticks along the walls. The tall pillars reaching up to the ceiling were ornately carved, and the candle flames sent flickering shadows into the recesses behind, making them look like they moved of their own free will. Rich tapestries hung down covering the cold stone walls, each one depicting a crude act of torture or mutilation, and some sex play even Dean hadn't seen before. The gruesomeness of the acts, a sharp juxtapose with the smiling faces of the people performing them.

At the far end there was a large statue. Even from this distance he could see it was hideous, a large, disfigured gargoyle head sitting upon narrow misshapen shoulders, the body far too small, and out of proportion to have been sculpted at the same time. But it was without doubt the centre of attention. A low altar table was set in front, containing two large bowls, two daggers and a large book cracked open at the spine. Scanning the writing Dean grinned – this he recognised; a basic summoning charm, with a hint of protection ritual, so either amateurs, or just very unimaginative. He took a closer look at the statue behind the table and couldn't help but scowl.

"Wow. You fell out the fuggly tree, and hit _every_ branch on the way down, didn't you, dude."

Standing on the low altar, he stood nose to nose with the grimacing statue, not breaking eye contact, just in case there was anything to see in those stony depths. Reaching up, he pressed the pads of his fingertips to the gritty face and slowly drew them across its features, nothing, but rough, cold, hard stone that had a hewn texture that bit into his skin when he touched it. Moving back, he surveyed the statue in its entirety. It was huge, and it was _fuggly._ But, it did have a certain aura about it, gave off certain….energy that captivated, that held him in place.

He was so transfixed; he never noticed the swinging candlestick connecting with his temple opening up a long slashacross his forehead. He swayed once on the balls of his feet, felt the first warm trickle of blood dribble down the side of his face, and knew this fight was over before it'd even begun, as the floor lurched up to meet him.

Professor Mackenzie stood shaking as he held the bloodied candlestick in both hands. Violence was not in his nature and it didn't sit well with him at all. He looked sickened as he noticed the blood, slowly dripping onto his white robe from the makeshift weapon in his hand and threw the candlestick to the floor in disgust. More men dressed in robes walked up behind Mackenzie and stood, one looking over his shoulder at the semiconscious hunter. Dean groaned as he was grabbed by the leather at his collar and hauled onto his back.

He'd never seen this one before either, two strangers poking around in one night, this couldn't be good.' Mackenzie sighed heavily; this really was very, _very_ bad.

"So what do you want to do with him?"

Mackenzie was at a loss; this was not how events were meant to be unfolding. "Uh, for now, let's get him secured, we can't have him running around, not when we're this close, could ruin everything." He looked down at the man on the floor and again, pulled a rough hand through his greasy, grey hair. "Take him outside, find his car if he has one, and put him in it. We'll take him to Gustav; he'll know what to do." Turning, he looked back to the summoning room, shaking his head slowly. _'Why did this have to happen today of all days?'_

The other man ripped a long, thin slice of material from the lining of his robe and got busy tying Dean's hands behind him, next, more material for a gag. Dean tried to open his eyes but they were sticky with blood and the pain in his head was blinding. He tried to speak but his tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth and refused to work. He felt himself grabbed by strong hands; at least two people maybe more, and they were dragging him out of the vault room. He could smell the air turning fresher as he was hauled out into the back street, but it did nothing to alleviate his nausea and dizziness. Then he felt himself pressed against something cold and hard, and knew he was up against the side of the car, but there had been no mention of Sam. It could only mean he wasn't there, that he'd got away.

He tried to protest as he felt someone search his pockets and steal his car keys and was slapped, hard in the back of the head for his trouble, sending starbursts of light into his vision. Where the hell was Sam? He could barely see through the blood in his eyes but he swung his head around, making pretence of clearing his sight, but desperately searching for his brother.

"Now this…" One of the men next to him spoke and ran a hand over the smooth black paintwork of Dean's baby, making him squirm. "...is a muscle car lover's wet dream!" He moved close to his captives face and leaned in, whispering loudly in his ear. "Don't worry; I'm sure I'll find a good home for her."

Black spots began to dance in front of his eyes as a familiar squeak alerted Dean to the driver's door being opened: and then the trunk. Suddenly realising what his captors were planning, he whispered a silent _'thank you'_ that his baby was no _'skinny assed chick'_. The extra trunk space would allow him at least a little room to breath and manoeuvre. Then, the world somersaulted and turned to black as Dean was lifted up and dumped unceremoniously into the dark space.

He awoke just a moment later, hot and sore, to the smell of gun oil and stale carpet. His first sensation was of his head rocking and bumping repeatedly against something hard. It only took him a second to remember where he was and he squirmed again as he recognised the steady throb of his own V8, and realised someone else was driving her. Someone who wasn't Sam, someone who wasn't a Winchester, had their sticky hands on the soft leather of her steering wheel.

The noise of the large engine barely managed to drown out the tirade of verbal abuse coming from behind his gag as Dean vented his anger and frustration.

Now he was really pissed!

oOo

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 Halitosis man & Blubber boy

The Rapture

Chapter 3 – Halitosis Man & Blubber Boy!

_Municipal Library_

_Maine Street, Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 03:22am_

ooooooo

Sam hid in the darkness of the shadows, pulling his jacket closer as the early morning cold found its way under his shirt. He rubbed at his eyes, a hollow tremble running through him as he watched events unfolding outside the library.

He'd seen his brother pulled through a side door by two heavies, protesting as one of them rifled through his pockets. Sam couldn't help but wince as he saw Dean get a hard slap around the head for his trouble. Now he watched as that same man ran his hand over the cold, black metal of the Impala, saying something that made the older hunter squirm, but he couldn't hear what it was. Then he walked to the front and opened the driver's door, only to return and unlock the trunk.

Sam watched wide eyed as the two men picked up his brother, and threw him head first into the back compartment of his beloved car.

It took all his resolve not to run in and take them both out, _right here, right now, b_ut common sense prevailed and he held back, biding his time. The dense fog that had been muffling his head for the last few hours had barely begun to clear and he wouldn't be any good to anyone if he got himself caught. He watched the side door open again and tried to focus as he saw a strangely familiar girl dragged out and roughly pushed into the back seat of the Impala. The next man to join the party was instantly recognisable – Mackenzie himself, looking dishevelled.

No one seemed to be looking for Sam, so he guessed they weren't expecting to find anyone else in the car. Dean was protecting him even now, and that would buy him some time.

He leaned heavily against the shadowed wall and closed his eyes as he took a ragged breath. Had to concentrate, had to think, he couldn't let them drive away. Trying to clear his head, he moved slowly, hesitantly, taking a few steps down the street before noticing a rusty blue Ford parked on the corner. Now that was one car you _didn't_ need your wits about you to hotwire.

oOo

Dean had never 'travelled by trunk' before and he made a silent vow never to do it again. The deep ruts in the road were not making the experience any more comfortable and the heat and lack of oxygen was starting to take its toll. And, to add to his misery, the deep cut on his temple was still bleeding profusely and was making him feel light-headed, the warm sticky fluid leaking into his eyes and nose.

Straining at the bonds round his wrists, he felt his spirits rise a little. _'About time something went my way'_. The knot was amateurish to say the least, and Dean had his hands free within 60 seconds. The gag followed, but unlocking the trunk from the inside was another matter. He inched his fingers towards the back of the tight space where he knew a small hole had worn through the upholstery. Feeling the jagged edge, he twisted just enough to allow his hand to squeeze through into the weapons compartment. Although he couldn't see anything in the hot, black space, he knew the placement of weapons and tools in that false compartment like the back of his hand and gradually, inching backwards, he made contact with the sharp blade of a small skinning knife.

Twisting again to bring the knife to his chest, he steadily manoeuvred its tip into the locking mechanism and spoke quietly under his breath. "I'm _so_ sorry baby; I will make this up to you I promise, just help me out here." He pushed harder, and then harder still, making the knife slide from the oily metal and slice into his palm.

"_BITCH - Damn it."_ Kicking out with one foot, the sheer frustration crushing him, he lapped at the cut with his tongue tasting copper and grease. _'This sucks, this really sucks out loud, with bells on'._ Pausing, he composed himself enough to breathe deeply; he stroked his uninjured hand over the warm metal.

"Didn't mean that baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

_30 minutes later_

He was still working on the lock when he felt the car lurch to a sudden halt, banging his already sore head against the backboard as his body was forced to slide to the back of the tight space. They were either stopping at lights or they'd arrived at their destination, and when he heard the engine cut out, he knew it was the latter. Hearing the driver's door squeak and then slam closed, followed by muffled voices, he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation that was to come.

The second the lid opened he kicked out, his foot making thudding contact with someone's groin. Hearing the satisfying grunt of pain from the other man, Dean gulped in fresh air and threw himself over the metal lip of the trunk, landing badly on his side, his back muscles protested in pain as he let out his own anguished gasp.

Struggling to stand, he felt his world spin and lurch before getting his bearings. The man who'd opened the trunk was still doubled over, both hands clenched tightly between his thighs, struggling to recover from the booted attack and within three faltering steps, Dean was on him. He grabbed the short blond hair with one hand sending his other elbow downwards with sickening force into the back of his head. A deep groan and the big blond man fell to the floor in a daze.

Blinking and staggering backwards, Dean used one sleeve to try and mop the worst of the blood from his eyes as he steadied himself against his car. Taking a look around he could just make out the huge house and the deserted car lot he was standing in, and in the distance a pair of large iron gates.

"Jeez! - where the freaking hell am I?"

Twisting to face the open trunk, he started to feel for the catch that would open the weapons compartment; just as the second heavy barrelled into him. The force of the tackle took him off his feet and they both landed in a tangle of fists.

The other man was a mountain of fat and muscle and in Dean's weakened state it took no time at all for the huge mass of gristle to restrain him. He held the hunters face pushed down into the asphalt, one meaty forearm pressing deeply into the back of his neck, his cheek and lips grinding into the black grit.

And as if his luck couldn't get any worse, the blond man was recovering and slowly staggered over to the pinned hunter still holding his groin protectively. He kneeled in front of Dean's face and reaching out to grab his hair, twisting the younger man's face round and deliberately rubbing it in the sharp dirt. Dean choked and groaned as the man increased the pressure, making it hard for him to breath. This piece of shit was enjoying the game way too much. He leaned in so close Dean could smell the halitosis on his breath as he whispered, coarsely.

"Do. Not. Move. Or I will let Wayne here break your neck, and he will enjoy doing it. Father Gustav is waiting for you."

oOo

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav _

'_The Bastion.' Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 04:05am_

ooooooo

The house was vast, and obviously old, built when they really knew how to build big and impressive. Every room they stumbled through was large with high ceilings and opulent furnishings. They looked stately – expensive. Blubber boy and Halitosis Man dragged Dean into the parlour room by his hair, abruptly dumping him into the nearest seat and set about restraining him, doing a far better job this time. Sitting on the ornate wooden chair, Dean scowled, gently testing his restraints. He was painfully aware of the two Meat Mountains behind him and knew he wouldn't get far even if he could get free. They hadn't taken any chances this time. He'd been secured with plastic luggage ties around wrists and ankles, no twisting out of those unless he wanted to lose skin.

Dean looked up as the door at the far end of the room opened, and a tall, slender man entered, flanked by Mackenzie. Standing easily as tall as Sam, the newcomer wore a long black priest's cassock and carried himself as though he floated above the floor rather than walked on it. Slight dark stubble dusted his shaved head but the focus of attention had to be on his eyes. They were piercing electric blue, the blue of searing ice, the blue that looked at the face but saw into the soul. He walked slowly towards the restrained man and then spoke softly, in a voice that bore a slight foreign clip, giving it an exotic cadence.

"I am very unhappy with you. You have messed up some long standing plans, Mr...?" He looked at Dean like a father castigating an errant child.

Dean forced a slow grin and squinted at those eyes fighting for dominance; no way would he be the first to look away.

"Your thugs lock me in the trunk of my own car…" He tilted his head towards the two henchmen. "…one scratch on the paintwork, by the way, and they're burger chump. And _you're_ not happy with _me_?" He continued the staring contest in earnest.

Looking impassive, Gustav swung a chair around and sat facing his captive, speaking slowly, gently. "You have been brought here, because I need to know what you know."

Dean never let his grin falter. "Aaahh – that old chestnut, huh? Well, you may not believe this, what with me not shutting up and all, but I don't feel much like talking." He leaned forward as far as his tied wrists would allow. "And, seeing as you're probably gonna kill me anyway, I don't see why I should help you out."

"Kill you?"

Gustav was suddenly indignant. "We have no intention of killing you; life is a sacred thing to us. We do not kill…and you won't need to talk…" Gustav moved forwards mirroring Dean's body language, and bent low in front of his face. Gently, he lifted his index finger and placed it to Dean's temple avoiding the large patch of matted bloody hair. "…I can take what I need, but I would rather not force the issue, as it were. Things would be far more civilised for us all if you would cooperate."

"Well now, that's a first; a creepy bad guy who doesn't want to kill me. Hell, my luck must be changing!" He licked at the blood at the corner of his mouth before continuing. "Guess you don't mind causing a bit of damage though, huh?"

It was then that he decided to push his luck and see if it would push back. "So, what kind of demon can read minds anyway…can't see any other colour except blue in those eyes of yours."

At the mention of the word, the priest stiffened, so this man did have knowledge. The thought unnerved him but only for the briefest moment. Slowly he stood and took a step away. "No demon - just a man, like you, a man who, unlike you, made some wise choices, some would say…fortuitous alliances."

Now this sounded more like familiar ground. "Alliances? Interesting choice of words there, I know a few things about making 'alliances' with demons y'know, but kinda thought the church might frown on that sort of thing -_'father'."_

"You would be surprised at what the church chooses to frowns upon…"

Dean couldn't help feeling a rush of satisfaction at the anger in the older man's tone. _'Guess I pushed his buttons, huh?'_

"…and besides, we all do what is necessary for survival. For ourselves and for those we love. We are all the same. If truth be told you are just like me." There was nothing in the priest's manner to make Dean think this man already knew about the deal he'd made, but he just couldn't be sure.

He looked down his nose at the tall man, and spat out a reply. "You ain't nothing like me."

Gustav paused, but only for a moment. "No, you're right, in actual fact. I am nothing like you. Don't think of me as a demon. Or as a man for that matter. Because I am so much more." He threw a casual gesture out towards the others in the room. "We will all be so much more." Gustav spread his arms wide, palms upturned in a symbolic gesture of sanctity. "Soon you will be thinking of us as Gods."

The pregnant pause seemed to last an eternity whilst Dean tilted his chin and appraised the priest under hooded eyes. And then, let out an almighty belly laugh, as though he'd just been told the bluest punch line he'd ever heard. He barely managed to get his words out through the laughter. "Oh, man...knew you were a riot but that takes the cake...you are certifiable...you know that."

The men behind him started to shift uncomfortably. No one spoke to the priest like that, no one who knew the consequences that is. Gustav didn't consciously move but his face slowly drained of all colour while Dean continued his tirade. "And just who do you think is gonna fall for this crap? Gustav, is it? Can I call you Gussy? You don't mind that do you? So, _Gussy_, whose gonna get down on their knees in front of you, unless there's a gun in their back of course?"

As Gustav suddenly closed the distance between them, Dean knew he'd stepped over that line again and just managed to close his eyes in time. The backhanded blow was hard enough to shut him up, and leave a bloody trail across his cheek from a new split in his lip.

"Gag him!"

For the second time in as many hours, Dean felt a wad of foul smelling cloth being forced into his mouth and tied behind his head. It caught on his lip, ripping it further, but Halitosis Man had no intention of going gently, this was payback after all. The priest moved closer, his face impassive as he whispered into his captive's ear. "As I said, you don't have to speak." Wrapping both hands around Dean's head, now unconcerned with the sticky blood under his palms, he leaned his head in as close as he could without touching and breathed in.

Dean was immediately wracked by explosive pain unlike anything he'd felt before. It was a huge dull blade, pushed through him, parting him as though searching for something and it was relentless. He couldn't scream, couldn't breath, couldn't even think, and then as suddenly as it started it was gone. He gasped, unaware he'd been holding his breath, and tried to blink away the fluid in his eyes, unsure if it was blood or tears. Gustav let him go but didn't move away.

"I can take out what I want; and I can put in what I want. You really shouldn't insult me, _Dean Winchester._ I have seen you; open in front of me like a book eager to be read. I have seen your fears, your dreams, and your nightmares." He paused as he looked deeper. "And I can see that you still doubt me. You think this is some sort of cheap parlour trick. Well, maybe a better demonstration will help." He paused, seeming to consider the problem at hand and then smiled decisively. "Get the girl."

In the corner, Mackenzie instantly paled at the words. "Father Gustav, please, you said she…" But he was silenced by one harsh look from the priest and remained silent, looking on in despair as the pile of blubber went to get the girl.

The first thing Dean noticed was that she was far more alert than she had been. Still wasn't fighting but she definitely looked more aware and pretty damned scared. Her eyes roamed the room and when she saw Mackenzie she opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it as he slowly and reassuringly nodded his head at her.

"Nancy, I'm so glad you could join us." Gustav moved over to her, slowly speaking all the time, like an overly concerned teacher. "I have been told you resisted the summoning. I'm sorry, it's my fault, I thought you were ready, but we can do something about that now, cant we?"

Almost tenderly, Gustav grasped her face in both his hands, marring her features with the blood from Dean's wounds, but she barely noticed. "Shhh...It's all right…I have something for you, a gift; a beautiful gift."

Staring into his face with large tearstained but trusting eyes, she allowed herself to be calmed. Gently, he placed a finger lightly to her lips, and followed it with his mouth. The breath was no more than a whisper, a sigh; blown through slightly parted lips, but the effect was instantaneous. The girl's body stiffened almost to breaking point before crumbling to the floor. He let her slide down the wall and become a trembling heap on the carpet, her gaze reaching out blankly at nothing.

Dean could only stare at her as she convulsed in front of him. No-one spoke, as all eyes watched the girl whimpering, going through whatever horror Gustav had bestowed.

oOo

'_Don't remember'._

'_Don't remember anything'. _

She's crouching in the corner, against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She chances a quick look around and instantly regrets it, as something small scuttles along the floor. And there are people there. They're watching her. They're not moving.

'_Why are they watching me?'_

She's sliding against the bare wall, holding her breath, as one movement allows her to see another, and then another. The whole floor is moving, writhing and popping as if small bubbles of air are rising up through the carpet. She frowns slightly, not understanding the message her eyes are sending her brain, and tentatively stretches out a hand.

Her fingers touch the floor and a small black spider scurries up her arm, her heart misses a beat; a spider, her worst nightmare. She brushes at the offending arachnid and squashes it flat. She squeals and flaps her arms wildly, brushing the small carcass off her body, as though it burns.

'_Nothing worse than a dead spider; except one that's alive.' _

There's more now; moving decisively, twitchy and deliberate. Some are jumping; some running, and some descending from the ceiling on silken threads of gossamer. They're crawling up her shoes and ankles, climbing up the wall next to her face.

Paralysed with fear, she can see the spasm of their alien legs, see their darting movements as they inch their way towards her flesh. She gags and chokes as the fear overwhelms her. There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to run!

'_Still just watching. Why don't they do something?_ _Why aren't they helping me?'_

She gags again and wretches, there's something in her mouth besides the bile and she spits into her hand. A scrunched black spider, twitches on her palm as it drowns in stomach acid.

Eyes wide open in horror; she let's out a piercing scream as a dozen black, hairy bodies crawl out from her open mouth.

oOo

Her scream was deafening as she flailed on the plush carpet, twisting and grinding her hands against her body as if to escape some imaginary horror, eyes rolling wildly as she tore at her face.

Gustav stood quietly behind Dean's chair, and watched him as he twisted bloody wrists against the plastic ties and bit round the wadding in his mouth. He could taste the man's anger, surging through him and it was pleasing. This was useful. Placing a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, he bent down and whispered in his ear. "Look into her eyes, Dean, and tell me you can't see the raw power of this." He chuckled to himself as he walked around the chair and stood, fixing Dean with a piercing stare and a rapturous smile.

"This is our gift, Dean. Don't you see? We can give existence to your worst nightmares or breathe life into your wildest dreams. This is the deal we've made…and the price we have to pay is worth every second."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 It's what you do with it

The Rapture

Chapter 4 – It's what you do with it that counts!

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

'_The Bastion' Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 04:45am_

ooooooo

Professor Mackenzie paced up and down the black and white marble floor of the hallway, his palms sweating as he waited for the priest. He'd been told to wait – so he waited. What else could he do? He felt weak, impotent. He'd brought this down on himself and the one he loved the most, and now it was all about living with the repercussions of that one bad decision. He'd already had to watch, wretched but obedient, as Nancy was taken upstairs to rest and had to fight the urge to gather her up in his arms and run; but he knew it was too late for that now, certainly too late for him.

Gustav walked through the heavy doors, closely followed by Wayne and the other ugly grunt whose name Mac could never remember. The priest smiled warmly at him as he walked over and placed a consolatory hand on his arm.

"Earl, Earl. Please. You know this is all for her own good. Once she has embraced the Rapture, she will be one of those chosen, one of us – how could such a loving uncle deny her that?" He shook his head in mock sorrow as he tightened his grip. "Don't let your pride rob her, or you, of this chance, Earl, you would regret that and so would she." He spun and returned to stand by the large wooden door leading to the parlour.

The professor took a small step away and swallowed thickly before speaking. "She's just a child. I just...I have questions, father." Concern was written all over his face as he eyed the two massive men standing in conspiracy to one side.

Arching an eyebrow sardonically, the priest feigned sadness. "You have doubts, I know that, but all your questions will be answered tonight – that, I promise you."

Mackenzie eyed the door over the priests shoulder. "What are you going to do with the boy?"

"He will have the same chance as the rest of us, although, I believe he's quite the ideal candidate." Gustav couldn't help but let the small, acerbic smile invade his lips as he thought of the captive in the other room. He'd almost been able to smell the outrage bleeding off him at the treatment of the girl, and when he'd looked into him, well now – _those _sorts of emotions would be a positive feast. "We will take him to the summoning, but he may need to be…_'subdued'_ first."

Mackenzie knew exactly what that meant. Hell, he had personal experience. And he'd just watched Nancy go through the same torture for the sake of the ritual. As he looked at Gustav's eyes for the first time, he felt deep regret. He'd known what was involved and yet he'd dragged Nancy into the middle of it; and now, another was going to follow. Maybe, if he could just…He started, haltingly. "Father? Do you want me to…?" But the priest stopped him with one raised hand, before he'd had a chance to finish.

"No. This one will require experience…a certain finesse." He paused, deep in thought for a moment before once again focusing his attention full on the other man. "Tell me, Earl, have you used your gift on anyone but Nancy yet?"

For a split second Mackenzie wondered about the wisdom of lying to the priest. But as far as he knew, even Gustav needed physical contact to read someone. "The opportunity, has not yet presented itself, Father, but I'm sure it will in time." No. He wouldn't tell the priest about the boy he'd saved; the one researching those symbols, the one he'd sent away. With any luck, that one was miles away by now. Somewhere safe, somewhere that wasn't here.

The priest paused, an unreadable look on his face, but then smiled at him. "Go say your goodbyes to your niece. Wayne will drive you home. And try to get some rest. It's going to be a very busy day, and an even busier night. Don't worry about Nancy, we will bring her to the summoning and she will be glad to join the fold, and her life will be forever changed just as yours has been. As for that one…" He looked to the closed doors leading to the parlour, and Dean "…leave him to me."

Mac smiled weakly at Father Gustav, the deep unrelenting sense of dread knotting its way through his gut. This arrangement was getting worse by the second, and if he only had his time again… As he walked towards the stairs and Nancy, he could feel every inch of the priest's cool gaze on his back.

Gustav waited till the professor was at the top of the stairs before turning to his 'hired muscle'. "Wayne, once Mackenzie has seen his niece, I want you to drive him home and I want you to take care of him to the best of your abilities – he is not to leave his house." The priest lowered his voice further. "You will do what you must to ensure that he never leaves his house again. Do you understand?"

He gave the thick necked man a meaningful look and watched him smile a stained-toothed grin in return. "Don't let me down, Wayne. We are all counting on you." Wayne moved out of the way as the priest re-entered the parlour, but his smile stayed firm.

At the top of the winding staircase, hiding in the shadow, his back pressed against the cool wall, Earl Mackenzie wiped at the bead of sweat slowly meandering its way down his face. Now he knew beyond any doubt, it was too late for him. _Far too late for him._

oOo

_Outside the gates of 'The Bastion'_

_Wednesday April 9__th __05:15am_

Sam Winchester had been able to hotwire a car since four days before his ninth birthday – Dean had made sure of that. He'd taught him to drive as soon as his legs were long enough to reach the pedals, and it was a natural extension of driver's ed. to know how to start a car minus the keys. At least that's what Dean had said at the time.

Then, it had been dangerous and forbidden – kinda cool, but since that day, that skill had saved him and Dean countless times. And it wasn't the only brotherly lesson Sam was putting to good use right now. Along with 'Hotwire 101' Dean had made a point of instructing 'Improvised weapons for beginners' and Sam, as always, had aced that class. So what if all their artillery was in the trunk of the Impala? He'd been taught by the best, and once he'd searched the small stolen car, he'd come up with all he needed. Well – to deal with humans anyway.

Following the Impala had been easy, not like it was hard to spot. Getting through the large wrought iron gates outside this huge fortress of a house? Not a big problem. But the floodlit area and cameras on the other side; now those were cause for concern. As he stood and examined the security system in the distance, he could see a distant set of headlamps slowly working their way up the drive and, ducking behind the pillar by the gate, he waited for his opportunity.

oOo

Wayne drove slowly up the drive, stopping in front of the gates as they automatically swung open, not bothering even once to look at his passenger.Once they were through, he kept the engine turning over as he cranked his head round, making sure the gates were swinging closed. He was just about to pull away when he noticed the left gate snag on something, its mechanism grinding as it tried to shut itself. Swearing under his breath he looked once at his passenger and growled. "Stay in the car." He gave the professor his best 'no nonsense' look as he pushed open the car door and started to climb out.

And then – white light exploded behind Wayne's eyes as his head was viciously slammed between the car door and the jam. He wanted to swear, but opening his mouth only allowed his front tooth to fly out covered in spit and blood. The last thing he saw was that small off-white piece of enamel lying in the dirt – then nothing.

Mackenzie barely had time to register the tussle before he felt himself pushed deep into the car seat with something cold and metallic pressed into his throat, right up against the artery. His breath hitched as he closed his eyes and froze.

"We need to have a little chat!" It was an angry voice, very angry – but one Mackenzie instantly recognise.

Opening his eyes, he blinked at his attacker as the words tumbled from his mouth in panic. "You? What are you…you should be away from here by now…you should be safe! What are you doing here?"

It wasn't exactly what Sam had expected to hear but he didn't ease the pressure on Mac's throat even a little, he wasn't falling for anything. "I'll tell you what I'm doing here. You have my brother, and a girl locked in that house; I'm gonna get them out – and you, Professor, are gonna help me do it."

Brothers, of course, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for Mackenzie as he swivelled his eyes, looking from Sam, to the house and back. "You go near that house you'll be caught. They're probably on their way right now. They've got cameras everywhere, and then how much good will you be to anyone? Least of all your brother or my niece."

'_Niece?'_ Sam slowly appraised the situation, in frustrated silence. He hadn't meant for this to happen, he'd just wanted inside those gates, find Dean and get them both the hell out of there. Now here he was, stuck in a car with one unconscious hulk on the ground, a possible army of bad guys readying themselves in the house, and a hostage who, for the life of him he couldn't figure out. No, not quite what he'd planned.

Mackenzie saw the look of frustration on Sam's face and took a chance. "Look, it may be impossible to get into that house tonight, but I may have an idea. I'll help you get your brother out, if you help me free Nancy."

Sam flashed angry once again, pressing the weapon harder into Mac's flesh. "Just tell me why I should trust you?"

"Because _they_ don't trust me. Not any more, not since I tried to send you away – to save you. Why do you think I was with him?" He pointed to Wayne on the ground outside, still wedged against the inside of the door frame. "He'd been ordered to kill me!" As he spoke, he heard a low groan. Sam looked down at the mountain of blubber with distain, then leaned out and deftly grabbed the door handle, pulling sharply. Mackenzie winced as he heard the crunch of the metal on skull bone, and the dull thud as Wayne returned to unconsciousness.

Sam had to make a decision and he just prayed it was the right one. "All right, if were gonna help each other, what do you have in mind?"

"Getting us out of here is what I have in mind, and quickly. We need to talk, you don't know what you're up against and when I tell you, well I doubt you'll believe me."

"Don't tell me…you bet whatever it is; I've never heard anything like it before, right?" The sarcasm dripped from Sam's voice as he turned in the seat and pushed Wayne away from the car with his boot, before closing the door. In the passenger seat, Mackenzie eased slightly and rubbed at his neck, before noticing the weapon in Sam's hand.

"You held me up with a flattened coke can?"

"Yeah well, like my brother always say's, it's not what it is, it's what you do with it that counts."

He turned over the engine and moved away from the gates, sparing one last glance at the house where he knew his brother was being held before pulling out onto the road, sullenly following the professor's directions.

oOo

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

'_The Bastion' Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 05:00am_

ooooooo

The priest eyed his prisoner ruefully as he walked back into the parlour. "So, Dean, I was hopping that now we are alone, we can be a little more frank and honest with one another." As he spoke, he glided behind Dean and removed his gag. Then he dragged the spare chair into place so he could sit comfortably in front of his captive, legs crossed, smiling graciously.

Opening his mouth wide, Dean tested his jaw and winced as he felt it pop. Looking his captor up and down, he forced his mouth to smile back, although his eyes showed nothing but contempt. "Ah yeah, the whole – I can make your dreams come true thing, I remember now. Gotta say though, didn't look like you were making _her_ wildest dreams come true, if you ask me."

Gustav waved a hand dismissively. "It's an unfortunate part of the process that's all. You wouldn't require the same level of intervention, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't require the same level of intervention …for what exactly?" Dean spoke slowly as he started to get that familiar tight tingling feeling in his chest. The one he always got when it suddenly dawned on him that the bad guy knew more about the plan than he did. He really didn't like that feeling. He didn't like it one little bit.

"The Rapture, Dean." Gustav spoke reverently, as though whispering a prayer.

"Ah. Yeah, that. And that would be…what exactly?"

Laughing the priest uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "All will be revealed later, when you will be welcomed into the fold with open arms. Your particular skills will be very useful to us. I am not a man who believes in coincidence, Dean, you were meant to come here today, you were meant to join us."

"...right…" Dean pondered for a moment on exactly how to play this. The guy was clearly all sorts of dangerous, but he'd already said he wasn't going to kill him so… he decided it wasn't a good idea to over-think these things.

"Well Gussy…here's the thing, you are clearly as mad as a bucket of crazy, and I'm just so not keen on the caring, sharing part of this plan, don't really do the touchy feely stuff, even when there's something in it for me. And yeah, I know what you're gonna say – make my dreams come true, but are you sure? Cos – I got me some pretty damned freaky dreams, y'know." He smiled winsomely at the priest.

In a split second, Gustav's entire countenance changed. His face darkened, the only colour being the piercing blue of his eyes as they burned into Dean with barely suppressed rage. This was neither amusing nor useful, and he had no time for games. He stood and covered the small distant to his captive in two easy strides, grasping Dean's hair and glowering into his face.

"I know you boy – I have seen you, and all your false bravado. You are nothing more than a child. Tell me, how did you ever expect to be able to look after a younger brother when you can barely look after yourself?"

Dean tensed at the mention of Sam and at the pang of guilt that stabbed through his chest. But he said nothing, no point giving the enemy any more ammunition than they already had, but Gustav pressed on, leaning in even closer to his prisoner.

"I will tell you, who you are, Dean. You are a weak excuse for a hunter – trying so hard to be just like daddy, but deep down you know you'll never measure up, don't you? Because deep inside, Dean, you're still just a little boy with abandonment issues." Dean tried to wrench his head out of Gustav's grasp but the priest just held on tighter.

"And let's talk about your mother, ah yes, dear old mom. Except she wasn't old was she, Dean. Mary, wasn't it? I can see her face now. A fiery angel, burning on the ceiling. Tell me, was she a religious woman, Dean? Is she with God? Are you blessed as the fruits of Mary's womb? Was she full of grace, Dean?" The priest's eyes darkened even more, his brow furrowed in anger as he spat the words in Dean's face._" Or was she just another human whore spawning brats with delusions of grandeur, designed to get in my way and piss me of"?_

He twisted Dean's hair roughly, wrenching his head round to meet his gaze. Dean looked at him hatefully through moist, half closed eyes, willing himself to breath, forcing himself not to rise to the bait. Slowly but surely, he worked to extinguishing the boiling rage he felt at the caustic insults thrown at his mother, replacing those internal barriers, brick by brick, stone by stone, burying the emotions he could feel bubbling up to the surface along with his anger and frustration. This freak had been in his head once and he'd be damned if he was ever gonna give him a second chance.

Teeth clenched tight together, Dean's voice was little more than a hiss. "So what are you gonna show me, uh? My mom, burning on the ceiling? Well I've got a news-flash for you, Gussy, I was there for the first showing, and yeah, it sucked, but I dealt with it."

Gustav bent lower and leaned in closer, way too close for comfort, and with his other hand he roughly took hold under his captive's chin. "Nothing as prosaic as that, Dean Winchester." The priest squeezed his hand, digging rough fingers into the soft flesh of Dean's cheeks, forcing his mouth to open. The breath was the gentlest of touches ghosting over his lips and, for just a moment, Dean felt completely at peace. All his troubles, worries and nightmares were stripped from his soul leaving it bare and empty. And then, he gagged violently as his world spun, and that empty space was filled with horror.

oOo

TBC


	5. Chapter 5 A sudden drop in presure

The Rapture

Chapter 5 – A sudden drop in pressure!

_The residence of Professor E. Mackenzie_

_263 West Grove, Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 06:10am_

ooooooo

Sam unlocked the door and walked straight into the dark room in front of Mackenzie, pushing him aside as he searched the shadows. Right now he was in no mood to be polite. Being forced to retreat, knowing Dean was being held in that house, went against every bit of his nature and he hated the feeling. Once satisfied the room was safe he grabbed the professor by the arm and pulled him in, before stomping to the window and peering through the half drawn curtains, making sure they hadn't been followed.

He knew they couldn't stay there for long. This priest, Gustav, would be sure to send someone after them. "Go get what you need, and hurry up, we don't have much time."

Mackenzie just nodded, hurrying his way into the bedroom, stumbling slightly against the furniture in the darkness. This was not the same young man who'd come to visit him all those hours ago; that was abundantly clear. This man was in charge, driven by far more than just professional curiosity and he was someone Mackenzie didn't want to cross. For a split second he wondered whether changing sides had been such a good idea.

Ever since Sam had been told about Father Gustav, he'd worn a black look on his face, scowling at Mackenzie with even amounts of distain and pity. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the wreck of a man in front of him, but he also felt disgusted. Sam's only family had been taken in that house by trickery and force, but if what Mac had told him was true, he'd volunteered his own flesh and blood for whatever was going on in there.

Mackenzie switched on the bedside lamp and rapidly grabbed a suitcase, stuffing in clothes and books. He didn't hear Sam walk stealthily up behind him until he spoke, just loud enough to make the older man jump out of his skin. "Do you own a gun?"

The professor looked round, shocked. "A gun? Why would I own a gun?"

"Of course not, what was I thinking?" Sam spoke just under his breath as he took a look around, his eyes coming to rest on a small blue holdall in the closet. Grabbing the bag, he turned, walking quickly back through the hallway. Once in the kitchen, he checked through the curtains again. The road was empty for now, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.

He made for the kitchen drawers, riffling through endless cutlery before finding something useful; two decent sized carving knives and a meat tenderiser. He then moved to the cupboards and found a packet of kitchen salt. Next, in the living room, an iron poker from the fireplace joined his stash. Hoisting the blue bag onto his shoulder he stalked back to the front door, calling to Mackenzie.

"Were leaving. NOW."

The professor had to run to catch up, swinging his suitcase onto the back seat of the small car and climbing in next to Sam. He gave him a sidelong glance and watched him start the engine, pulling away from the drive. "So where are we headed?"

Sam continued to stare resolutely out the windshield. "Library."

"Now, just hold on. For us to try and get inside that library right now would be suicide!"

"You're not coming."

Mackenzie looked away, and for a moment felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. If Sam wanted to do this alone maybe he should let him, after all, he was obviously no stranger to violence and deception and besides, Mac was too old for this. But then just as suddenly, the feeling passed and he looked back to the man next to him. He was angry, and with good reason – his only family was in danger and he was rising to the challenge. Mac was in the same position and the mere fact he'd considered burying his head in the sand filled him with shame, but strengthened his resolve.

"Sam, I know you're angry, but you need me, you can't do this alone. I've already told you, this is not just some angry defrocked priest you're dealing with."

"Yeah, so you said, maybe you'd better fill me in on exactly what it is we are dealing with…because I just can't wait to read the small print."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, young man!" And for just a second, Sam felt like he was back at Stanford.

oOo

_27 Maine Street_

_Opposite Municipal Library, Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 07:00am_

ooooooo

Mackenzie was still getting used to life as a fugitive. He'd watched Sam break into the unoccupied tenement opposite the Library with bated breath, and a wide eyed curiosity at the sheer professionalism with which this man could become a felon. "So, Sam, I take it that you and your brother do this kind of thing a lot."

Sam had his back to Mackenzie; staring through the slatted window, busy watching the main doors to the library over the street. It was still closed, not due to open for another two hours but he'd seen plenty of movement. At least a dozen men and women had made their way in and out of the back door and he could assume there were more inside.

"You deliberately climb into people's minds without permission and manipulate them, but it bothers you to climb into a deserted building? Strange priorities you've got there Professor. So, let me get this straight. These 'gifts' are different for everyone, right?"

Feeling reprimanded, the professor answered quietly. "Yes. For example, I can influence thoughts and feelings but so far only to a very superficial degree. I still need practice you see, that's why I had to use drugs…to enhance the effects on you…" he looked at the floor in embarrassment. "I thought you'd leave…I really thought I'd saved you. But I should have known better. I should have questioned all of it. Nothing this good comes without a price."

"And what was the price, what did you have to pay for your little gift?" Sam didn't move from the window as he spoke.

"I had to supply the next candidate."

Sam paused; he hadn't thought the deal would be so straightforward. "I don't get it. Are you telling me this whole thing is some demonic pyramid scheme - each salesman getting a little pat on the back, an incentive for introducing the next poor schmuck?"

"When you put it like that it sounds remarkably mundane, but unfortunately you're missing the point."

"Which is?"

"It feeds. The Rapture is not a gift, it's an exchange, and it feasts on all that is negative and dark, all that holds us back in this world, all that stops us being all we can be. Can you really say you wouldn't have jumped at that chance?"

Sam shifted on the bare floor where he stood, sighed, and immediately returning to his vigil. He knew way too much about deals with demons to fall for that one. He threw a casual glance over his shoulder at the feeble grey haired man sitting against the wall. He looked small and sad, not exactly what Sam would have wished for in a co-conspirator. "Yes, I can honestly say, I wouldn't have. So, are you sure Gustav will follow the same pattern as before?"

"They should be here by midday, there's no reason to assume he wouldn't follow the same routine, and I can't believe he'd change his plans because of me, he's too self assured for that. They'll be here, and they'll bring the candidates. They don't know about you. At least, I don't think they know about you…unless your brother has…" He stopped at the hateful look from Sam

"Dean wouldn't have told him anything." He hissed the words as he went back to watching the library.

Mackenzie looked worried, and he spoke softly. "He may not have had a choice."

Sam didn't even turn this time, he just growled. "You don't know my brother – he won't have told him anything."

Mac didn't want to risk upsetting this young man any further, he was so changed. He'd looked like such a nice man when they'd first met, now he looked nothing less than lethal. "So what's our plan? I'm presuming you have one by now."

The young hunter stood unmoving and quiet, watching and waiting for any sight of Dean. He had a plan all right – to burst in there, and bring to an end every one of those son's of a bitch who had laid a finger on his brother. "Kinda…so fill me in here…what am I likely to find in there?"

Mackenzie swallowed. Every time he had to think about that summoning room he relived his own personal hell, but at least this time he was doing it for the right reasons. "Candidates are left in the waiting rooms just off the main chamber…we'll need to get them out from there…if they get taken into the summoning room, it'll be too late, we'll never get them out in front of all those people."

Sam's voice was barely a whisper. "Then we have a plan."

oOo

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

_The Bastion, Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9__th__07:05am_

ooooooo

Father Gustav slowly circled his captive, like a predator circling its next meal, watching intently as the boy tied to the chair shuddered and moaned. He knew this one had the potential for great strength but this lever of resistance to the 'subduing' was so far unprecedented. Starting gently had been a very good idea – certainly wouldn't have wanted to break this one too soon. Impressively, he'd been at this for the best part of two hours, and still the boy stubbornly refused to crack. Yes, Gustav knew he'd been right about this one.

oOo

Dean shakes his head desperate to stay focused. As the mental fog clears, he hears a reverberating engine roar, smells salty re-conditioned air, but he doesn't know exactly where he is until the trill metallic voice forces its way into his subconscious.

'…_red emergency lights will guide you to you're nearest exit…'_

"Oh, Jeez." The realisation hits him like a punch to the gut. He's so tired, but he's far more angry than scared.

'…_In the event of a sudden drop in cabin pressure…'_

"You've got to be kidding me!" Dean cries out as loud as he can despite his failing strength. A bead of sweat slides down his back as the room detonated into light and sound, and he's standing in the narrow gangway of a packed Boeing 737.

'…_place the mask over your nose and mouth first…'_

"This is one sorry excuse for a worst nightmare, you know that? Is this really the best you got!?"

The seats around him are trembling and jolting as turbulence hits the plane, the other passengers panic and scream, as it shakes and buckles. But Dean closes his eyes and holds on. This, he knows isn't real.

"_You __SUCK__ at this, Gussy!!" _

At this last outburst, the images fade and distort around him like bad visual static, and he gags yet again as his world is sent lopsided. This time though, as his surroundings solidify, he finds himself back on the chair in the parlour room and it's darker – later. He's lost hours of time. He's alone, tied to the chair as before. A small noise alerts him to another presence in the room and he searches the shadows, unsure if this is real or a figment of his tortured imagination; but it's hard to know. _'Sure feels real.'_ A hidden figure up against the opposite wall pulls his attention; and he tiredly turns his head, instinctively knowing who it is. 'Sammy?'

Even as a corpse, Sam hadn't looked so damaged, blank eyes stare out, heavy with a vacant expression, dark rings under his lashes, face hollow and bruised. Shoulders hunched forward, he holds his body as if already defeated; stooped and broken, standing in the corner as if he isn't even aware of his brother's presence. Dean doesn't know if this is real or not. Is this his Sammy? But he's too tired to think – can't take the chance. "Sammy?"

In his head he yells, but his voice sounds weak, and even that feeble sound doesn't register with Sam who just stands, silently watching the carpet, breathing hard.

Dean watches fearfully as the dark fingers of shadows creep from the floor and walls, and wrap themselves round his helpless brother, weaving through his hair and clothes, making him shudder violently. With a desperate whimper, their eyes meet for the first time and Dean has no doubt left in his mind. 'They have Sammy'. This is his own, real brother – lost in his own worst nightmare.

"Sammy! Fight! You have to fight it. Sammy, listen to me, _you have to keep fighting." _He shouts frantically and as loud as his exhausted voice will allow, desperately trying to pass on some of his own internal strength to his brother as he twists raw and bloody wrists under the plastic ties. "SAMMY!"

But Sam is lost in its embrace, grimacing with burning pain as every touch from the shadow leaves an icy hollow on his skin. Dean can do nothing but watch as they seem to devour his brother from the inside out, piece by agonising piece. "SAAAAM!"

Rotating and pulling at his restraints, Dean screams in desperation, trying to snap the ties, hoping his little brother will have the might to break free of his vision before it consumes him. He fights hard, but the sharp plastic cuts deep into him, his blood flowing freely down the chair legs and onto the floor. More darkness creeps its way across Sam's face and forms round his mouth, forcing him to pant through his nose, as tears cascade from his terrified eyes. Dean can only stare at the writhing figure of his brother with no hope of helping him.

As Sam sinks to his knees, the shadows whip over his body, tearing at his flesh, leaving long ragged wounds in their wake. He's looking around, petrified and wide-eyed as though blindly searching for something that he just can't see.

The look in his eyes calls out to Dean – silently pleading for salvation.

And then a soft voice, Sam's voice, sounding childlike and desperate in Dean's clouded dream state. 'Dean. Where are you? I know you can hear me. _Dean, why won't you help me?'_

Dean's heart clenches as he watches his baby brother beg for help, while he sits impotently bound to the chair, tears cascading down his face. Hearing Sam pleading as the evil slowly tears at his flesh and soul, is as much as Dean can bear, and he faced his one truest and most terrifying fear. His brother needs him – and he's powerless to help.

'Sammy, I'm so sorry'.

And, in that moment, his world slowly unravels.

oOo

Eyes wide open but staring at nothing, Dean's body trembled violently as he lay gasping on the ornate carpet, his heart pounding out an erratic beat in his chest. Gustav folded and pocketed the small penknife he'd used to slit the plastic ties, allowing the boy's boneless body to slide to the floor. Then, he gathered the skirts of his cassock in one arm, and crouched down; looking into the blank staring face of the supine body on his carpet, and gently reaching out a finger to wipe at the steady stream of tears tracking their way down his face.

There was no response.

The priest smiled almost fondly as he looked down. "Now that, Dean Winchester, was almost too much fun."

oOo

TBC


	6. Chapter 6 It weren't there before

The Rapture 

Chapter 6 – It weren't there before!

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

_The Bastion, Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 09:42am_

ooooooo

Father Gustav stood over the bed nearest the window and gazed down at Nancy's blank face. The grimace of horror she'd worn during her subduing had vanished an hour ago and now she lay quiet and unmoving, an empty mask of serenity where before there had been anguish. He didn't expect to see anything in those large, brown, staring eyes but he looked anyway. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to reflect on a job well done, and she had been a job _very_ well done.

The priest pulled over a chair and sat watching her eyes. They glistened in the blades of morning sun coming through the gap in the half closed curtains as he reached out, idly tracing the angle of her jaw with his thumb. He leaned over her, resting his elbows on the bed next to her head and breathed in her scent – it was clean, fresh. She was a creature of beauty…had always been a vision, ever since the first day he'd seen her. That day, she'd crept into the library basement behind Mackenzie. A slight and winsome figure, hunched and hiding behind her uncle, almost afraid of the world and all it had to offer her. She was a woman with a desire for nothing more than invisibility, to be sheltered from a world that had so far delivered only heart ache in her brief life.

And he revelled at that thought. It was all fodder for the rapture…it would exchange something precious for that despair.

In the silence of the bedroom the priest's voice turned soft and seductive. "Nancy...You may not believe this yet but, it will all be worth it very soon. You are going to be prized among women…a true angel." He smiled and gently, tenderly, moved a thin wisp of damp hair from her face. "A truly demonic angel, or, perhaps an angelic demon? Hah, just think of the power you will command; the pain that will be taken from you…And then you will be fit to sit at my side…'

His finger continued it's exploration of her face, lazily drawing circles on her flesh, eliciting no response. But it didn't matter, after tonight everything would change and she would welcome his company with open arms, of that he was certain.

Straightening in his chair Gustav laced his fingers together placing his interwoven hands gently on his lap. He looked across to the other bed, at the unmoving figure lying supine on the blanket and raised his brow thoughtfully.

Strength was a beautiful thing, and it had taken a lot of effort on his part to break that one. The boy was soaking with innate fortitude, was the perfect choice; he would make an excellent right hand man. He'd the potential to become a great soldier in the ever present battle with those who refused to understand…who would destroy the Rapture rather than taste of its gifts.

But there were still questions, issues to be resolved with that one. For instance, why had the father been as clear as day, so full of militaristic authority and deeply hidden emotions? And the mother… the beautiful pale haired woman, her flesh bubbling and popping on the ceiling, a memory distorted by the passage of time but still all too raw, too crisp and full of colour.

But the sibling…? He couldn't understand the misty film covering the brother…as though hidden from view, concealed by the wavering vision of a heat haze, automatically protected from prying eyes…he found that _interesting._

Unwilling to leave Nancy's side but feeling the need to check on his second guest, Gustav hesitantly stood and walked around her bed. Reaching the other, he smoothed down the corner of the blanket and positioned himself on the edge next to the unmoving body.

Dean's narrow, staring eyes were damp and glinting in the sharp light and fixed on a point somewhere in the expanse of middle ground between him and the rest of the world…and there was no one behind them. The priest searched those depths of green…and saw nothing.

He sighed and barely whispered in the quiet room. "Maybe you're not the big bad man you thought you were, Dean. But then, don't we all hide behind masks of our own making? There will be no reason to hide anymore, not for you."

There was no response but the priest hadn't expected any. Dean laid completely still, limbs in the same place where they'd been left by the minions who'd put him there…and for a moment Gustav had to look hard to make sure he was still breathing. Placing one hand on the boy's chest, he felt the gentle rise and fall and was satisfied. Not for the first time he wondered what this one would receive. There was just so much guilt, anguish and pain for the Rapture to take and to feed on…and the returning gift was sure to be a worthy substitute. "_Dean Winchester_…" he spoke his name reverently as though tasting the words, never once averting his eyes from the empty man on the bed. "Your gift will be immeasurable."

Then, a quiet knocking on the door dragged him from his thoughts.

Huffing at the unwanted interruption that would disturb his tranquillity, he strode to the door and opened it. Wayne stood hunched in the aperture, his face a mess of red and black scrapes. The split lip Sam had given him still oozed gloopy crimson down his chin and his cheek and jaw were swelling nicely. He looked at the floor.

"Der bos a pwoblem, Fardeth, Sowee."

Gustav's eyes widened as he watched Wayne spit the words out along with droplets of saliva and gristle. He could clearly see the gap where his front teeth should have been as the injured man wiped away the dribbles gathering on his chin.

"What happened?"

"Da Pwofessow, he ad an ackompwice, he wos waitin fow him. Waitin fow us."

Another spray of red tinged spittle flew from his mouth with the last word, hurling forward and splashing Gustav square in the eye. Mortified, Wayne held his breath as the priest slowly reached up and wiped the offending substance from his face slowly looking at his marred fingers in disgust.

"Go to the bathroom Wayne and get yourself cleaned up. We clearly have further preparations to make; it looks like Mackenzie isn't the empty threat we thought he was."

With that he closed the door in Wayne's face and turned, leaning back against the dark stained wood. So, the Professor had an accomplice, now that certainly was unexpected. Mackenzie was a weak and ineffectual man, a mistake. Someone who had never been truly worthy of the great gift he'd been given…the great gift he'd squandered.

Later, when their numbers were greater he would have to do something about quality control. Make sure it was only the most deserving who received the gift. But for now he would have to focus his attention on Nancy. Mackenzie and his 'hired help' was sure to try and take her away from them and Gustav was not about to let that happen.

oOo

Dean squeezed his eyes tight shut, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so tired but he knew it had to have been a long time ago. He could hear what sounded like a thousand insects buzzing round his head, felt them biting, each one a relentless annoyance but he'd no time to brush them away. No time to deal with the small things when there were so many big things still to cope with.

He paused, looking down at his bleeding hands. The tiny cuts and abrasions were leaking quite a bit now and they wouldn't be healing anytime soon, not with so much work still left to be done. Not while his heart could till beat out a rhythm, forcing the tide of life through his veins but that at least was a comfort.

With a shrug he ignored the blood and pain and went back to his job. Bending low at the knee, he wrapped sore arms round the next stone. This one was quite a bit heavier and now he came to think of it, they were all getting heavier, each one almost deliberately outdoing the last clearly just to thwart him.

Grunting with effort, he hoisted the rock up to his hip and wedged it against the others before it could slip, and taking a breath he renewed his resolve. Pushing upwards, he could feel sore, blood covered fingers slide on the dusty surface. Sucking in a breath and with extra focus, he heaved and managed to wedge the slab on top of the others just slightly shy of his waist.

Resting, but only for a moment, he turned his head and squinted up at the sun. It was beating down with relentless strength, a blistering and all consuming radiance causing a gentle trickle of sweat to meander its way down his back. Wiping the damp from his forehead only succeeded in covering his skin with more crud and he already felt sticky, his shirt attached to the contours of his body. He ran both hands down the sides of his pants which left a thin smear of crimson but at least he had palms temporarily free of blood and sweat. And he couldn't stop…had so much work still to do. Had to rebuild; had to strengthen, had to fortify. He crouched down reaching for the next boulder.

"Hey, dude!"

Dean looked up, startled by the familiar voice and saw his brother standing very still, watching intently. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of those baggy jeans. Yeah... just like him, always with the loose fitting clothes like he was expecting to grow even taller and one day be able to fit them. Sam looked calm but pensive, not at all fazed by the dirt and dust or the job his brother was undertaking.

But for Dean this was all wrong. He didn't want Sam there. Why was Sam there? He was sure he hadn't been there a second ago so why was he there now? Dean needed him to go away. Why wouldn't he go away? He didn't want him to see this… he shouldn't have to know how hard this was…he shouldn't have to see him struggle. Sam shouldn't have to bear witness to his own brother's deep seated weakness.

"You shouldn't be here, Sammy." His tone was coloured by a half hearted scowl as he turned away; keeping it short in the hope that Sam would find somewhere else to go.

But Sam didn't move. He just stood and smiled, all the while watching as his brother continued with the gargantuan task in front of him until Dean couldn't take the scrutiny any longer.

"Just how long have you been there anyway?"

Sam frowned, as though he didn't understand the question. Then he tapped two fingers against his temple. "Always been here, dude."…and then he moved those same fingers and tapped again, this time over his chest. "Just like I've always been here."

Dean just stood and looked at his brother for what felt like an age before answering.

"Ah Jeez, Sammy, I gotta tell you…I hold you personally responsible for putting all this freaking chick-flick girly crap in my head, cos it weren't there before."

Turning sharply and focusing back on the work at hand, Dean wrapped his tired arms around the next huge stony mass and lifted. It didn't budge, he felt his back and thighs protest painfully. Man… this one was gonna hurt.

"Want some help with that?"

"Nah, I'm good." He still desperately wished Sam would go away…find something else to focus his attention on, but he could feel those big brown eyes drilling into his back and he knew he was still there…watching. Part of him wanted to force Sam away, order him to leave but another part was desperate for him to stay, needed to have him there, crucially drawing strength from his presence.

He managed to get the reluctant mass of stone halfway to his thigh before it started to slide through the blood and sweat slicking his fingers. Renewing his grip, he could feel the muscles in his flank twist and spasm with effort and he knew without a doubt that he was going to drop this one. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough to do what needed to be done and he was going to fail, right here, in front of his little brother.

Dean couldn't stop the groan from escaping his lips as he made one last desperate attempt to force the stone into place, but deep down he knew it was too late…and then…the heaviness vanished as Sam reached out and grabbed hold taking the weight easily. Bending low, matching Dean's position, Sam twisted and moved nearer bringing his mouth close to his brothers ear…whispering words only meant for him to hear.

"Yeah, I know you're good, big brother…but I'm gonna help you anyway."

Looking at the expression on Sam's face, Dean saw everything he needed; the strength, the defiance, and the reflection of his own dogged determination. At that moment nothing else mattered or needed to be said…and together, side by side, both brothers built a wall.

oOo

Standing in the dull light of the bedroom, Father Gustav allowed his eyes to sweep the surroundings one last time, finally coming to rest on the porcelain skin of Nancy's throat, his fingers twitching involuntarily as he remembered the feel of that smooth cool flesh. She was a thing of beauty now, but a mere shell of what she would be later that night…and he could wait a little longer, he was a patient man. So Mackenzie thought he was going to get his niece away? "Well, we will see about that…"

The priest spun on his heels smiling to himself as he left the room, unwilling to waste any more time. He was a busy man with important arrangements to make.

He didn't look back…

…but if he had, he would have noticed the determined narrowing of Dean's eyes and the gentle spasmodic twitch of the muscle in his jaw…and the stony air of defiance that had slowly descended over his demeanour.

oOo

TBC


	7. Chapter 7 Urban warfare Winchester style

The Rapture

Chapter 7 – Urban warfare Winchester style

_27 Main Street _

_Opposite Municipal Library, Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 10:45 am_

ooooooo

Mackenzie scanned the road on the opposite side of the street from the window, and nibbled nervously at the dry skin at the edge of his thumbnail. He couldn't shake the memory of the events of the last few days and they were ruining his concentration; it was hard to think of anything else. Especially now that Sam had left him on his own. Images of Nancy drifted into his mind tinged with overwhelming guilt and shame. He'd betrayed her. She'd always loved and respected him and he'd led her straight into the lions den. And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd then crept his way out the back door, leaving her there at the mercy of that so called priest.

Well at least he was being offered the chance to do something about it, although he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite this much out of his depth. He didn't consider himself a nervous man, couldn't say he remembered being truly frightened in his life either…until now that is.

Sam had been gone for less than half an hour, taking with him all the money Mackenzie had, and leaving him with strict instructions not to take his eyes off the library and to make sure he recorded how many people entered or left – especially by the side door. Mackenzie had no intention of disappointing that young man; the feral look in his eyes as he'd stalked out of the room had convinced him it would be a very bad idea to 'disappoint' Sam Winchester right now.

His teeth tugged again at the loose slither of skin, sending a sharp stab of pain into his thumb and he winced, just as he heard the faint squeak of a floorboard outside the door. He'd no time to move from his place by the window before the door was kicked open and Sam stormed in like a full force of nature, his arms weighed down with a whole collection of carriers and holdalls. He didn't acknowledge the professor, just dumped the bags in the middle of the floor and sat down cross-legged, decanting what looked like groceries.

"I have a job for you." Sam withdrew a large block candles with three wicks twisted together and placed it on the floor in front of him. He lit it, gesturing to Mackenzie to join him. "You know much about chemistry, professor?"

"I know enough to get by – what do you have in mind?" Mackenzie walked over and sat opposite Sam, mirroring his position and feeling more than a little insecure.

"I'm going to teach you how to make a smoke bomb. I'm going to show you first so pay attention, you'll need to watch carefully." As he spoke Sam reached for the bag; this time grabbing a sachet of cane sugar, a roll of aluminium foil and a small bag of 'saltpetre' fertilizer additive.

Mackenzie frowned, this was only basic chemistry but it'd been an age since he'd played with a Bunsen burner, and the more he tried to cast his mind back to his school years, the more the memory sunk back into the mists of time.

He watched intently as Sam's deft fingers worked with the ingredients. "Make sure you get the ratio right; too much sugar and it'll be a waste of time; to much potassium and it'll burn too quick, it won't give us enough time to get out…" He looked up at the older man, sternly. "Are you getting this?"

The professor tried to sound confident but the tremor in his voce was more revealing than he would have liked. "Yes – the ratio has to be right…"

Sam stared up at him with a harsh look and no hint of pity. He spoke more slowly, enunciating every word. "Three parts potassium to two parts sugar. This is important. Then hold it over the heat and stir gently, wait for the sugar to melt then pour it into the foil cup and add a wick – then get on with the next one. Have you got all that?"

Mackenzie nodded furiously; he certainly had no intention of arguing. This soldier sitting in front of him bore no relation to that inquisitive young man who'd walked into his home to ask about a relic. This was a man whose very presence projected danger, a man who was clearly prepared to do whatever was necessary to achieve his aim, and this was a man who was pissed. He looked older, more mature and more focused. So focussed that Mackenzie felt a slight shudder run through him as Sam looked up and locked eyes with him from his place on the floor.

"I need to see you do it."

Again Mackenzie nodded and immediately got to work, recreating the process he'd watched just a moment ago. Sam watched him till he was satisfied, and then got up and moved to the window taking a good long look at the library. Then he went back to the floor and once again sat cross legged.

This time he took out the 'Ready to Eat' meals he'd bought from the camping shop.

Mackenzie glanced up from his 'smoke bomb' making activities and for a split second actually thought they were going to eat, but watched in amazement as Sam split the pack open and took out the heater bag, wiping it off before gently slicing it open. He took out the dark block inside and crunched it between his fingers, dropping the dust onto another sheet of foil. Then from another brown paper bag he took out what looked to be an empty plastic water bottle, but old, like he'd found it in a dumpster. As he carefully lifted the foil and slid the powder into the empty, dry bottle, he looked up and caught Mackenzie's eye, making the professor shift uncomfortably.

"So, is that another smoke bomb?"

Sam returned his attention to his work, starting on the next ready meal. "No – this is something else".

"…_right…"_ Mackenzie swallowed; his dry throat trying to suck the moisture from the air and dragged his eyes away from the young man preparing to wage urban warfare on the local library. But no matter what he did, he couldn't shake the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that the war zone he was now sitting in, was of his own making.

oOo

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

_The Bastion, Lancaster. _

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 10:00am_

ooooooo

Dean still lay flat on his back, unmoving and placid on the small bed and continued to stare blankly at some undefined image in front of his face with dry, sore eyes…still breathed softly, almost imperceptibly…and he remembered.

He remembered everything.

Although his body wouldn't respond to his commands, his mind was racing, slotting together the jigsaw of events as the images fell into his thoughts. He may not have been able to coerce his body to move, may not have been able to force air past his vocal chords… _but he could remember_.

In his mind's eye, he watched the nightmares he'd been forced to reveal to Gustav, over and over like a reel of film stuck on a perpetual loop. But there was no pain this time, no fear…just awareness. This was his memory, and he was in control. Even the knowledge of what had been done to him…of the space within his mind that had been invaded in the most intimate of ways, caused him little concern.

His focus was on the space he'd been able to protect – the thing he'd been able to hide. His focus was on Sam.

He'd no doubt that Sam wasn't in Gustav's hands, that he hadn't really been tortured; just like he hadn't really been there to help fortify Dean's mind. And even the image of his brother was safe for now, concealed behind that hard built wall and no-one was getting through that. Not while Dean still had breath in his body, fire in his belly and devotion in his heart. _No-one was getting through that again._

ooooooo

_He remembered seeing John. He observed his father from a distance as he went about his day to day work. Like a child watching his one true hero, Dean watched with wide innocent eyes and such a crushing desire to follow in his footsteps, that the pain of his own inadequacy nearly overwhelmed him._

…_until he saw the priest. _

_Gustav stood calmly, watching the display of childish emotion with a plaintive smile. He looked almost kind, almost compassionate…almost human. The memory shifted, and for a moment Dean swam in the whirlpool of his past, nausea making him latch on to any image he could, anything to calm the maelstrom._

_He was back in Laurence, in Sammy's room. There was no sign of John and the cot was empty, but the room burned with a brilliance that could only come from an inhumane fire. Dean knew this memory. Knew that even as a child, his imagination had filled in the gaps of the most profound and life changing event of his young existence._

_He watched Gustav, just as the priest watched Mary. Her body spread-eagled across the ceiling; mouth open in silent anguish, eyes wide and staring in confused terror. _

_Dean didn't look up once. He didn't need to see the horror of his mother burning on the ceiling. He'd watched that scene play out in every nightmare he'd ever had, and he knew every stage direction by heart. The nightmares were always different but always the same…maybe an engulfing sea of fire, showering imaginary tongues of molten flame down on his head, as he strained to reach for his mother with blackened scorched fingers… or perhaps the tide of pure white heat would engulf and swell, and then rupture her delicate flesh before the fire even had a chance to steal the life from her. _

_Every single one of Dean's imagined rendition had vividly outdone the last…and he'd had a lifetime of them. So what could there be to see here? No…he didn't need to watch his mother burn…so he kept his eyes glued to Gustav as the priest took in the show…And he watched as the tiniest of smiles played across the priests mouth, looking for all intents and purposes like a man happy to be entertained._

_And then his memory shifted again. This time he faced Sam, wiping the soot from his hair and the tears from his eyes as both brothers stood and watched the apartment in Palo Alto burn… taking with it Sam's best chance for happy and normal. Dean looked deep into his brother's face and read the need for consolation. The pleading for answers and the all consuming grief that threatened to swallow his brother whole was displayed there for all to see. And then over Sam's shoulder, he saw Gustav. _

_Dean riled at the sight. This…he would not see, this…he would not tarnish…_

_With every ounce of strength he possessed, Dean searched through a lifetime of confusion and self-doubt and sent it hurtling towards the priest …regret for random conversations that had ended before he'd said what he really meant…painful one night stands that deep down he'd thought could have turned into so much more…a whole catalogue of hunts; all of them ending badly with injury or failure or death. Dean threw them all at the priest, every random thought and feeling…and slowly but surely it had the desired effect._

_Memory after memory assaulted Gustav, making him stumble backwards, a look of amazement gradually colouring his features. He strained to see through the layers of all consuming mist, swiping at the gossamer with his hand but the movement achieved nothing…_

ooooooo

Dean had stopped him; he'd hidden Sam and with that knowledge, came power and dogged determination. And he was becoming more aware by the second.

Although he still couldn't move, he could feel, and he was aware of a soft draught coming from the open door that was cool on his skin, just as the stream of sun coming through the window was warm.

And then there were voices…someone telling someone else to 'get them up and get them ready', and then pressure on his arm as someone pulled him from the comfort of the bed. He found himself standing as his body responded to the manipulation as though under a hypnotic trance, blindly following the will of the person leading him – and he didn't like it.

Slowly, Dean worked on making his fingers respond to his commands, gradually curling and flexing, focusing on nothing but regaining that small amount of control. Only small movements to start with, but growing in intensity all the time…until he could feel his hand forming a perfect fist. Although he couldn't show it, on the inside Dean smiled.

oOo

_27 Main Street_

_Opposite Municipal Library._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 12 pm Midday._

ooooooo

Mackenzie looked at Sam as though he'd just been slapped in the face. He couldn't be serious, there was no way on God's green earth anyone would consider that a plan. He straightened his back and took a calming breath before speaking. "Now, I know I'm not knowledgeable about this sort of thing but I have to say, this plan appears reckless to say the least…"

"It'll work."

"And I think I must disagree…I can't see _how_ you expect this to work, and you haven't really explained what you'll be doing while I'm… "

Sam held up a hand, quietening the professor before turning to face him from his look-out by the window. "All you need to remember is to do your part, leave the rest to me."

"Well…I have to say I still don't understand why we can't get the police invol…" Mackenzie halted quickly at the seething look thrown his way. He swallowed thickly. "Or, maybe…you have some friends you could call upon? Someone in the same...um…line of work, so to speak?"

"We stick to the plan…You go in, make some noise; I follow and make a whole lot more."

Sam went back to examining the view through the dirty slatted window, his eyes glued to the building opposite, waiting impatiently for any sign of his brother. As if on cue, his patience paid off and a large blue car arrived and turned down the alley, parking up just shy of the side door.

He watched through half closed eyes as Nancy was dragged from the car by her elbow, closely followed by Gustav who looped one arm around her waist in a protective gesture that would have been nurturing under any other circumstances. And then he saw Dean, unceremoniously dragged out of the car by the collar of his shirt, his whole demeanour, one of passive non-resistance. It didn't stop Wayne from pulling him along by a handful of hair though, and Sam put another mentally tick in the box of Winchester style payback that was about to rain down on that man's head.

His voice had deepened by degrees; his face, an emotionless mask of complete focus. He didn't look at Mackenzie when he spoke, but then he didn't have to. He could taste the man's fear crackling in the air between them. So when he did speak, he kept it short.

"Its time."

oOo

TBC


	8. Chapter 8 Did all hell break loose again

This one is especially for all those guys who like to see Sam in the thick of the action...lol. Hope you enjoy.

The Rapture

Chapter 8 – Did all hell break loose again?

Municipal Library

Main Street, Lancaster.

Wednesday 9th April 12:26pm

ooooooo

They made fast progress through the corridor leading to the vault, the priest towering over Nancy as they went, keeping his arm protectively looped around her waist as he led her through the ornate door and into the big open room at the end. None of the candles had been lit yet; it was far too early for those sorts of preparations – there was still the best part of twelve hours to go. The door at the far end had been left open allowing enough movement of air to ruffle through the low hanging tapestries. Gustav loved those weavings. Such decadence, such inhumanity and perversity depicted through the most beautiful of mediums. They appealed to his sense of irony.

Addressing the man standing to his right, he lifted the girls hand and gently placed it in his. "Take her to the annex and let her rest, she won't be needed for quite some time."

He watched Nancy led away following her with hungry eyes as she was whisked through a side door, and then turned his attention to young hunter standing mute, held tightly in place by Wayne. He took his time sauntering over to the sleepwalker and gently raised a hand, running it through Dean's short hair, knotting his fingers in the strands and cranking his head back with a jolt. "Your time however, will come a good deal sooner."

A throaty snort from Wayne signalled he was enjoying the moment. He had payback on his mind, and failing the chance to lay waste to who ever smashed his teeth; he would make do with taking it out on this kid instead.

Gustav's face was so close to Dean's cheek as he spoke, he could see the prickly stubble dusting his chin, the dim moss green of those eyes…and something else. Something less tangible…a small glimmer of light lingering in those depths…Was that _defiance_ he could see? Surely not? No – that was impossible. He held too much confidence in his own abilities to give credence to the fact that this young man, _this boy_, would have any self awareness left let alone the strength to rebel.

He thrust Dean's hair from his hand, pushing him back into Wayne's grip and addressed the fat bodyguard as he wrapped one meaty hand around Dean's jaw. "People will be starting to arrive soon, take him to the waiting room and leave him. I have other work for you."

Turning on the spot, the priest paid no further attention as Dean was dragged stumbling in Wayne's grasp through a small door to the left of the altar. Gustav straightened, adjusting the folds of his long cassock and gazed at his surroundings. He enjoyed the sanctuary of the summoning room, the smell of sweet incense and furniture polish always had a great calming effect on him. It was his church and his refuge. It was his sanctuary; somewhere he could be seen and appreciated for whom he truly was.

_And he truly was the closest thing to a God this sorry world would ever bear witness to._

What else could you call the one person with the power to take away pain and suffering…to smite the wicked and destroy the unworthy…to protect the innocent and grant riches beyond their wildest dreams to the deserving. To call him a God was an understatement.

He eyed the twitching tapestries gently swaying against the walls and tilted his head back, breathing in the room and clearing his mind, starting to prepare for the Rapture that was to come with the tiniest of smiles resting gently on his lips.

Then he slowly turned to the annex. He had a few hours to kill and he decided he would spend them with Nancy.

ooooooo

Professor Mackenzie pushed open the library door and tried his best to walk casually, but the sweat running down his skin, pooling at the small of his back and the twitch he'd developed in his left eye did hamper his efforts somewhat. He pushed on regardless, the mental picture of Sam's scowl giving him every bit of the encouragement he needed to get this done. The small bag over his shoulder only housed the seven smoke bombs he'd made under Sam's tutelage but he felt like he was walking through the door with twenty packs of C4 strapped to his chest. _If anyone caught his eye now…he may just throw up._

At least three faces were familiar to him from past ceremonies and he mentally plotted a course to the basement door that would avoid them. Navigating the rows of musty leather bound books and the aisles of stale paperbacks novels was no trouble. He knew the layout of this library like the back of his hand; all he needed to do was avoid anyone who may recognise him. He walked as fast as he dared, keeping his steps light, the only other noise, the gentle murmur of whispered questions and the tap tap of fingers on keyboards. He found himself wondered when it was that people had stopped using fountain pens, but shook off the musing as he approached the door to the lower levels.

He'd made it that far without being challenged, but then his luck finally ran out. A small wiry woman in tweed and flat shoes bustled over to him as only a librarian can, her voice shrill and loud even in a whisper. "Can I help you…?"

He turned to her sharply, desperately running through Sam's instructions about what to say and how to act if he was stopped and questioned. He took a deep breath. "My dear young lady…I think you will find that if I required help, I am more than perfectly capable of asking for it. Or are you suggesting that there may be some reason why someone such as I, a clearly educated person may not be able to navigate the simple corridors of a local library?" He held her in place with eye contact alone, unblinking and efficient.

"I…um, please let me know if there is anything I can do…um…I have to go and...Please excuse me."

He watched as she left, her feet moving swiftly as she disappeared down the aisle and between two stacks of books, and he whispered a silent thank you to the big brother who'd taught Sam Winchester assertiveness skills. Taking out a large white handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the worst of the sweat from his eyes and cast a quick weary look around the immediate area. All was quiet as he gingerly pushed through the door leading to the basement and silently closed it behind him.

Once on the other side, he checked his watch – less than ten minutes before Sam came in _'guns_ _blazing_' as he'd put it, although thinking back, Mackenzie hoped he would have noticed if Sam actually had any guns.

ooooooo

Sam walked in through the main library doors exactly ten minutes after Mackenzie with a dark holdall across his shoulder and an even darker attitude to match. He stalked to the west side, ignoring the people who instinctively felt the need to glide out of his path and started searching along the wall. It only took him thirty seconds to find what he was looking for – Mackenzie had described the library in great detail. He took out his torch, flipped it to the blunt end and without a second thought, rammed it into the small red box screwed to the wall breaking the glass and starting the screeching wail of the fire alarm.

With the grace of an athlete, Sam swivelled on his heels and swung through the basement door, unseen by the confused patrons of the library. Pausing for just a second to make sure the room was in panic and that he wasn't being followed, he closed the door after him and made his way down the stairs following Mackenzie's directions to the letter.

ooooooo

Mackenzie looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. Three minutes is all he had left to get into position and it was harder than he'd hoped. As soon as the fire alarms had been set off in the library above, he knew Sam had arrived…but people were scurrying out from side rooms, some half dressed, some only half awake and all scanning around for the source of the trouble. Finding it almost impossible to stay invisible in the melee, he found a temporary hiding place behind a low hanging tapestry and got ready for zero hour.

ooooooo

Sam reached the bottom of the stairs and took the corridor to the left just as instructed. He hung back when he saw a few people bustling about but they were confused, misdirected by the alarm. He probably could have walked right through them and not been stopped…but there was still two minutes till the appointed time, so he held back and he waited.

ooooooo

Gustav strode from the annex with Wayne in tow, an imposing figure firmly in control. He walked to the centre of the summoning room where most of the faithful had gathered, muttering and questioning each other. Then he spoke, raising both hands high to gain everyone's attention. "ENOUGH – That is enough." He stood holding the same position, waiting for the room to quieten before continuing.

"There is nothing to be concerned about." He knew it was a lie, he knew that within just a few minutes the library would be swarming with emergency services all wanting to know what was going on down in the basement. This could ruin everything…and yet he felt no desperation or loss or fear…there was just anger, an all consuming anger and the need to destroy whoever had done this to him.

He turned to Wayne. "Go and lock the access from the library. The others will have to use the side door."

The man nodded and started to turn…just as the first waves of acerbic smoke hit the crowds and pandemonium broke out.

Mackenzie had done his job like an expert felon; five smoke bombs fizzled and hissed on the floor sending thick acrid smoke wafting through the summoning room. He lit the next one and tossed it just in front of the open door allowing the breeze to sweep the bitter mist further and quicker, adding to the panic in the room. Once the last bomb was placed he looked at his watch one last time…twenty seconds to go…he got in position on his knees, wrapping both hands around his ears and waited…

ooooooo

Sam's mental countdown was instinctual, he'd done this routine with Dean more times than he could remember, and it was becoming obvious Mac had done his part. Counting down from ten, Sam slipped two wax earplugs into place, took out one of the bottles he'd been working on and a plain bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap…adding the smallest amount of water, screwed it back on and watched as the mix started to react; slowly buckling the plastic. There was no time to waste – he tossed the bottle right into the middle of the summoning room where most of the people were gathered and turned sharply, dropping to his knees and protecting his head.

The thunderous explosion rattled the basement windows and quite possibly the library windows too. Sam was sure it would have been heard for at least four blocks…and that would certainly encourage the emergency services to get there quicker.

The crowd who'd been transfixed by the priest screamed as one and surged towards the exits, some running for the stairs leading to the library, some for the side door leading to the alley…leaving Gustav to stand speechless and deafened by the blast of the homemade concussion grenade.

ooooooo

Dean heard the first explosion and knew this was his chance. It was now or never. Using pure determination and bloody mindedness for fuel, he struggled to raise himself from the couch where he'd been dumped. His body felt like it was hung over, with none of the pleasant mental side effects to soften the blow, but he'd been able to get some movement out of his limbs. Digging deep, he got to his shaky feet and managed to stumble to the opposite side of the room, just managing to catch himself before head butting the wall…and then, the universe decided to conspire against him.

Wayne threw open the door, staggering inside, rubbing his eyes and face and coughing profusely. It only took him a seconds to see the empty couch and turn to see Dean holding himself up against the wall. It was clear he'd barely regained enough movement to walk let alone fight…which made Wayne grin…this was going to be easy…and a pleasure.

He stormed towards his captive bringing up one huge fist and slammed it into the wall beside Dean's face, wrapping the other around his throat and enjoying the boy's flinch. He stretched his lips in a wider grimace showing oozing lips crusted with scabs.

"I fink yow in trouble, boy." He enunciated the words with as much menace as he could through swollen gums, spitting blood and saliva as he spoke…and then he stilled as he felt the faintest wisp of breath against his neck and heard the quietest and most feral growl in his left ear.

"_Think again." _

The scorching words hung in the air for no more than a fraction of a second before a hand, large and strong, wrapped iron fingers around Wayne's neck, pulling him backwards and away from Dean still slumped against the wall. The hand spun Wayne round till he came face to face with a tall, lanky man, with hair long enough to string him up by and a strange combination of fury and concern painted on his face. Wayne had no idea who this kid was but he reckoned he could take him…

…but he'd wasted too much time thinking it through. With one sure move Sam reached out and took a handful of Wayne's hair right on top of his head, and drove his other elbow hard under the mans chin. Wayne didn't stand a chance; he toppled like a felled oak, landing heavy in a knot of limbs and body fat. As he hit the ground Mackenzie ran through the door, his handkerchief wrapped around his mouth protecting him from the worst of the smoke. He spotted Sam and ripped it from his mouth. "I can't find her, Sam…she's gone. Nancy's gone."

oOo

TBC


	9. Chapter 9 Masterclass of internal design

The Rapture

Chapter 9 – A masterclass of internal design!

_Municipal Library_

_Main Street, Lancaster._

_Wednesday 9th April 12:48pm_

ooooooo

Sam turned away from Mackenzie and stepped over Wayne's unconscious shape on the floor, lunging for his brother and gripping his shoulders as Dean slumped lower against the wall.

"Dean? Can you walk?" But it was more than clear that he could barely stand, let alone walk. The older hunter gazed back, eyes brimming with mixed emotions but still completely unable to speak. He could just about move his legs but they shook with tremors, the exertion of getting from one side of the room to the other had used up all the strength and control he'd managed to claw back and now he felt used up, empty.

"Stay with me, Dean…"He turned to the Professor. "…help me with him."

"What about Nancy?" Mackenzie was desperate. He'd done his part but it had all been for nothing if she was gone…and they had no idea where. She must be with Gustav but he needed Sam, he wasn't going to win if he went up against the priest by himself.

Dean felt Sam grab his left arm and throw it over his shoulder, and he willed his legs to still, but all his efforts just made them bounce all the more. Then he watched the other man, the one he couldn't place, run over on Sam's command and hook his other arm taking his weight between them.

As Mackenzie grabbed Dean's belt he turned to Sam and tried again. "But what about…" He was cut off before he could utter another word.

"We can't do anything for Nancy until we know what's happened to her, and now isn't the time…we have to get out of here and re group. Then we'll figure out where she's been taken." He had to get the older man to focus here or else no one would be getting out. Not giving the professor a chance to argue Sam half dragged half lifted Dean away from the wall, only letting Mackenzie take the smallest amount of his brother's weight, and together they made for the door.

People were still running, still screaming. No-one had even thought to find out where the actual fire was but Sam knew that was largely immaterial. They had approximately three more minutes before the emergency services arrived, and they had to be out of there by then. Hurriedly, the trio scrambled for the door leading to the alley, fresh air and freedom.

Stumbling into the daylight, they turned the corner onto Main Street just in time to see the priest's big car pull away, clearly occupied by Gustav and Nancy.

oOo

_27 Main Street_

_Opposite Municipal Library, Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9th 12:51pm_

ooooooo

Sam watched intently from the gaps in the boarded up window, his eyes fixed on the building on the opposite side of the road and the flurry of activity in the street below. The emergency services were swarming over the Library like army ants, two fire trucks, at least three Sheriff's department vehicles that he could make out and more police and ambulance personnel he'd ever seen in one place at one time, and that was saying something.

Dean sat crookedly on an old mattress up against the wall; his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms hanging limp by his side. _And he shook_. His whole body twitched and shuddered as though an electric current was flowing through him and there was nothing he could do about it. The more he tried to control the twitching and spasms racking his limbs, the worse they got. Sam glanced over at him, feeling more and more useless by the second. Going after Nancy would have to wait. He wasn't keen on doing anything whilst Dean was like this.

The professor paced from one side of the room to the other muttering frustrated reprimands under his breath. This was a disaster, how could he have been so stupid to think this plan would work? All they'd succeeded in doing was showing their hand to the priest, and now he'd be ready for them. He'd probably 'up the schedule', not wait till midnight and then Nancy would be given to the Rapture. He tried reasoning with Sam again, his voice sounding more like a whiney child by the second.

"Sam, we need to go after her now, there's no time to lose…don't you understand that?"

"Were not going anywhere while Dean's like this."

Mackenzie stood stock still and stared first at Dean, then at Sam. "I might be able to help him…if…?" He had Sam's full attention; in fact he had the tall hunter bearing down on him, making him feel less than comfortable.

Sam's voice sounded like walking on gravel. "If were going to get Nancy back, were going to need my brother…" he pointed at Dean still slumped against the wall. "…can you help him or not?"

"Yes…I can…but not unless you're going to help me…I need you to promise that…"

Mackenzie didn't know what hit him. For a moment there was a blur of colour and then Sam's face was pressed so close to his, he could see the curl of the man's eyelashes. His mouth was set in a tight grimace and he barely moved his lips as he ground the words out.

"The only question you need to ask yourself is; how much do you like your kneecaps? Because I'm going to get Nancy away from that freak whether you help Dean or not, but understand this…" Sam moved even closer, pressing Mackenzie hard against the wall."…I am through playing games, so if you want to be there, with two working legs to see the look on Gustav's face when his little empire folds, you will help my brother…now."

A small nod was all he was capable of; bluffing this boy had not been one of his greatest ideas, and in truth he'd no idea whether he could help the other hunter or not.

Moving next to Dean on the mattress, Sam lifted him from against the wall and pushed himself between the cold wall and his brothers back. With one hand wrapped around Dean's chest and the other holding his head still he whispered in his ear. "Dean, he's going to help you. Just relax, bro…okay?"

Dean could hear the words drifting around him but he couldn't make any sense of what they meant. He knew it was Sam speaking but it sounded like a foreign language. He tilted his head the best he could, trying to ignore the jerky movements coursing through the rest of his body and looked in Sam's face. He could tell he was worried…that look he recognised in an instant. Hell, he always looked worried about something. He wanted to tell him it would be okay, he'd sort out whatever the problem was, but no matter how hard he tried no noise came out of his mouth. He couldn't get his lips to form words but he didn't know why…

Then he saw Professor Mackenzie leaning in towards him and the panic set in. Memories of the invasion of his mind, the stolen memories and the intense pain flooded through him like a tidal wave and his body shook harder with the memory.

Dean's eyes burned with rage as the professor dropped to his knees in front of him. Gripped by panic, he watched Mackenzie lean forward and extends his fingers towards his temples, just where Gustav had touched him. He wanted to shout…yell out for Sam to help him, but Sam was crouching right there watching the whole thing. Why was he just watching? Why wasn't he wading in, pulling this freak away?

For his part, Mackenzie could taste the fury coming off the young man in front of him in crashing tides and he certainly wasn't looking forward to what he'd find during this forage inside this boy's mind. He'd no idea how much damage Gustav had caused or what he'd find in those recesses, or even whether he'd be strong enough to help this man put it all back together again. All he knew was he had to get Nancy away from Gustav and he was going to need help, and that meant he had to keep Sam happy.

The first touch sent a stab of emotion into Mackenzie's fingers and up his arms. The strongest feeling that assaulted him was dread followed by pure resentment followed by a determined shoving force, causing him to halt his exploration with a start…it was so strong it nearly made him withdraw right then but the staring scowl on Sam's face made him rethink.

The trembling running the length of Dean's body grew stronger, he was fighting hard, making Sam hold on tighter. Their eyes locked as Mackenzie pushes his way in, exploring, testing, treading water. He could sense the damage immediately, feel the devastation, could feel the rubble left behind by the priest and he felt an overpowering sadness. He'd brought this about, it was him who'd knocked this young man unconscious and delivered him to Gustav…this was all his fault…and now he had to make it right.

Almost at the very second the thought entered his head, he felt the shift in Dean's mind. A way in. He didn't know if Dean was letting him in of if he was too weak to fight anymore, or maybe he didn't think there was anything left to fight for, but a way in was a way in and he took it.

The professor had tasted Sam's internal defences before and they were impressive enough, but his brother's were a masterclass of internal design. He shied away from observing the experiences playing out, he knew that path led to the damage caused by the priest and he had to find another way.

It took Dean a while to realise this was different from the last time, and even longer to lower his guard. Mac wasn't standing and watching the painful events of his life like Gustav had, he wasn't relishing in his torment and anguish…in fact he was turning away from all those memories, all those images that the priest had prised out of him. He was searching out all the weaknesses, all the holes, all the fissures and he was closing them, reinforcing the foundations and rebuilding, laying new stones and filling in the cracks until all was structurally sound.

Images were bombarding Mackenzie now, coming thick and fast. Broken and fractured impressions of walls, of stone, and of both brothers building...he concentrated hard on that picture, lending his strength and purpose to their efforts…building, fortifying. These walls weren't just drywall any more; they were ramparts with concrete foundations thrusting down into the recesses of Dean's mind, and now he'd started Mackenzie could feel the gift being sucked from him, the essence dragged from his veins by the injured hunter, hungry for healing.

Time had no meaning for either of them, the building and repairing taking all their attention and all their focus. Sam could only watch the two men caught in a weird embrace, Mackenzie's fingers laced through Dean's hair with no thought for the injury to his head, and Dean holding the mans wrists in a tight squeeze…holding them in place…or trying to prize the fingers from him? It was impossible to tell.

And then Mackenzie started to tremble, great shuddering waves of spasm coursing through him and the contact was broken, both men flying from each other and falling backwards like a mirror image. Dean landed hard against Sam's chests and slumped to the side, his brother barely being able to hold him before his head hit the floor. Mackenzie fell backwards landing with a thud on the bare floorboards, gasping for air and clearly exhausted.

Looking wide eyed from one man to the other, Sam's voice was a whisper as though he didn't want to dare hope the professor had succeeded. "Dean? Come on, bro; time to wake up now…"

Nothing.

Sam tried again a little louder. "Dean…"

This time his patience was rewarded with a tight grip around his forearm and a shuddering cough as Dean jerked once, then struggled to sit up, but at least moving under his own steam.

"Easy, man…take it easy…"

Mackenzie had managed to sit up, and was watching the exchange, marvelling at how Sam had reverted to the same gentle, intellectual figure that had walked through his door, _was it really only a few hours ago? _How he'd changedback from single minded ape to concerned and eloquent brother in the blink of an eye astonished him. But then thinking about it, there was no great surprise really, after all these boys were two pieces of the same jigsaw and Sam was just being who Dean needed him to be.

He looked up and caught the young hunter's eye, noticing the fear melting away and being replaced by a deep sense of relief and gratitude and he spoke gently. "I think he'll be okay, Sam. It took a lot out of him and he needs to rest, but I think he'll be okay."

As he watched the two brothers, the older getting his bearings as the younger sat behind him, still holding on as though he might vanish in a puff of smoke if he loosened his grip, he smiled. For once he had done the right thing, something he could be proud of, something he'd needed to do. This young man was going to live to fight another day.

Mac watched Dean awake slowly, the emotions chasing one another across his face. And then he watched all signs of sentiment leach form his features, and felt suddenly overcome with a deep sense of foreboding. He'd thought Sam was a scary hard nosed felon, but he had the feeling that he hadn't seen anything yet. Mackenzie had expected a weak and tired voice as Dean opened his mouth to speak, not the harsh, metallic grind that came from those lips.

"He's got my car…and I want it back."

Sam said nothing; just smiled at the look of bemusement on the professor's face.

oOo

TBC


	10. Chapter 10 Logical discussion and what?

The Rapture

Chapter 10 - Logical discussion followed by a feel good hug!

_27 Main Street_

_Opposite Municipal Library, Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 16:20pm _

ooooooo

Two hours.

It took just two hours for Dean to be able to stand firm on his own two feet without toppling over…just two hours before he was able to form a coherent sentence…and just two hours before he started to piss Sam off.

"How many times Dean?" Sam threw up his hands in despair. "You can barely stand, and you want to walk right in there and get medieval on this priest?" Sam might have had fumes coming out of his ears for all he knew, it sure felt like it. And the sight of his brother holding up a shaky hand, trying to get him to calm down was making it a whole lot worse.

Dean stood a little straighter, trying to not let Sam see him using his other hand to brace himself against the wall. "W…what's your point, Smmy?"

"My point?…I think you just made my point. You can't even speak but you're gonna march into a fortress and take on an army…Great plan!"

Dean shrugged and looked at Mackenzie with a lopsided smile. "Don't mind him…he worries."

"_Dean…"_

Frowning deeply he raised his voice. "Quit whining, Sammy. Just cos you got girl's hair, don't mean you have to sound like one, I'm good…and I'm getting better all the time." He was clearly making a concerted effort to concentrate on every syllable, and even more of an effort to stand without swaying.

Mackenzie glanced from one brother to the other, his anger and frustration threatening to coil up through his gut, climb out of his mouth and throttle these two men who'd spent the best part of the last hour bitching at each other, while his niece was still in the hands of the enemy. "Gentlemen I hate to butt in, but Gustav has Nancy…and we're STILL NOT DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT"

He threw himself down on the corner of the old mattress. The little field trip into that hunter's mind had certainly taken its toll, in fact it had taken the wind right out of his sails and he wasn't sure how much use _he_ was going to be on this rescue mission, let alone Dean.

Both brothers slowly turned their attention to Mackenzie, watching as he slowly recovered from his _hissy fit_, and he felt his cheeks redden under their scrutiny. Dean spoke first. "Cool your jets 'Smoky'…were gonna go get your niece right now, in fact – were gonna go get both our _girls_." He looked back at his brother. "Sammy, how we doing for supplies?"

"All we need and then some…and you're not going anywhere…"

Dean stood resolute, arms crossed lightly over his chest… "Well, I think I am."…He watched his younger brother pout. This was the well rehearsed Winchester stalemate, the first one to turn and walk away was symbolically giving in, handing a win to the other and there was _no way_ that was gonna be him. Older brothers just didn't do that.

Sam opened his mouth then closed it, opened it again and huffed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd won one of these standoffs so there was no point in wasting any more time. He spun on the spot and made a show of stomping over to the window.

The tiny sigh of relief that escaped Dean's lips went unnoticed, he wasn't about to tell his brother there was no way on earth he could have turned away, even if he'd wanted to, without falling hard on his butt. And besides, that probably wouldn't do his _'…I promise I'm feeling a whole lot better…'_ argument much good, certainly not in Sam's eyes anyway.

Changing the subject seemed like a real smart move. "So Mac, tell me something in words I'm not gonna have to look up. What did you do in here?" He tapped his temple carefully avoiding the new butterfly strips holding the gash in his head together.

"I healed you – well, in a manner of speaking."

Dean glanced over and addressed Sam's back. "See, now that's what I'm talking about – positive attitude…so that's what you do is it? Heal?"

"It's part of what I can do, yes. You see, the Rapture, it opens up and withdraws all that is negative replacing it with a gift of sorts". His voice took on a lower tone. "But it has repercussions; it warps you every time you use it... I hardly have, but even I felt it when I just helped you." He was still looking at Dean, a slightly pained expression creasing his brow.

"And it takes negative emotion and thoughts, huh?" The older hunter squirmed a little at the thought of anything being sucked out of his head, let alone his anger and negativity…hell, he needed those. Without them, well…? He suddenly had a horrible vision of sitting down with the evil they hunted and teaching it the error of its ways through lengthy, logical discussion followed by a feel good hug. He shuddered as the professor pulled his knees up towards his chest and continued.

"I have the ability to enter and influence, that's all really. Some can do other things, but I can only influence. I can choose though, whether I watch; heal, strengthen – _confuse_…" he glanced up at Sam, a deep regret etched on his face. "…but to be honest I haven't used it anywhere near enough to have developed any kind of true power. Not like Gustav, he was the first. That thing must have had a feast on him if the size of the gift is anything to go by."

Sam spoke from over by the window, still looking at the library over the road. "Well at least it won't be today; no-one's getting back in there, probably not for a couple of days at least."

"You don't understand; the Rapture can be performed anywhere and at any time, wherever and whenever Gustav wants. I was gifted in the Bastion; we've only been using the library for the last couple of ceremonies…the first few were in Gustav's parlour room."

"So, he doesn't need any of the stuff that was in there?" Dean pointed to the window and the library beyond. "The statue, those hangings, the whole altar thing, that's all just for show?"

"Well, yes…It's all him. He summons the Rapture and acts as the main conduit for it. A few of us have assumed that's where his main power is coming from, he leaches a little more from each of us as we go through the process and becomes stronger all the time…"

Dean walked decisively over to the professor and lowered himself to the floor. "OK Mac, here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna sit there and tell us exactly what were likely to come up against in the 'Bastion' with as much detail as you can remember…and there I'm gonna tell you exactly what we're gonna do about it."

oOo

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

_Outside t__he 'Bastion', Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 17:20pm_

ooooooo

Sam swung his legs out from the driver's seat of the pale blue truck they'd _borrowed_ from three blocks south of the Library, and closed the cab door quietly. He looked over at his brother who was already out and standing in front of a very nervous looking professor Mackenzie, one hand braced on his shoulder trying to encourage his resolve.

"All you got to do is what we told you, we'll do the rest, okay?" Dean smiled at the older man trying to look reassuring, but the emotion sweeping the professor's face was abject terror.

"O…Okay, yes…All I have to…yes. Right." He nodded and looked at the floor feeling more like a condemned man all the time.

"Just do your part, that's all anyone can ask…and we'll have your girl, and mine, back before you know it."

The professor nodded, words failing him as he looked over at Sam and smiled weakly before starting out towards the gate. If he'd thought Sam's plan of walking straight into the Library decked out like an urban guerrilla had been a bad idea, this one was pure unadulterated madness…but Dean had a way of making it sound so convincing, of making it sound like this was just a walk in the park, a normal Winchester day out, and knowing what he now knew about these brothers…it probably was.

Less than five minutes later and he reached the gate, then briefly hesitated and cast a nervous look back over his shoulder. The area where they'd parked the truck was much further down the road and in the shadow of a huge oak, but he could easily see the absence of the two boys. Logic dictated they were off fulfilling their part of this scheme but he was suddenly swamped by the fear that they'd left him high and dry. Taking a shaky breath he dismissed the thought, after all Dean would never clearly leave his car…at least he had that on his side.

Peering through the gate he could see the imposing house in the distance…now all he had to do was to get into the grounds. Forcing his mind back to the job at hand, he ran his hands along the gritty surface of the Bastion wall and felt his fingers bite into the rough masonry.

ooooooo

Sam scrambled around the back of the pale blue truck and ducked down low, watching the Professor stumble towards the 'Bastion'. He watched him slow almost to a standstill and throw a worried glance over his shoulder, and for a moment it looked like he might balk, but instead, he turned back and carried on reaching the wall and running his fingers along its rough surface. But all Sam could feel was guilt, twisting and gnawing through his insides for sending Mackenzie into the lions den without so much as a weapon for protection…but then if he was armed, there was a greater risk of him being involved in a proper fight, of getting hurt, and that wouldn't serve their purpose.

Crouching next to him, Dean sounded genuinely impressed. "Gotta give that guy credit, he's got guts."

"Yeah, hope he doesn't do anything stupid and get them smeared all over the ground."

"Dude, you worry too much, y'know that?" He slapped the younger man on the arm and gave him a one hundred kilowatt smile…even though he felt like he was severely lacking in the battery department. Sam saw through it instantly and pushed himself up from the ground, then hooked Dean's arm, helping him to stand.

"Wow, personal space, quit messing with me…" He looked reproachful at the genuine concern in Sam's eyes.

"Look, Dean, I didn't want to say anything while Mac was still around, but you're still not firing on all cylinders here, so when we get in there, do you think you could maybe let me take the lead for once in your life?"

"Dude, do I look like an invalid to you..?" He held up a hand halting Sam's answer before he could speak. "And enough already with the 'Big Bad Sam' attitude, man, it does NOT suit you…and while were on the subject I was saving your skinny ass, those giraffe legs and that scrawny body before you could even handle the recoil from your first sawn off, so give me a break here…"

Sam pouted sullenly, dropping his hand from Dean's jacket. "What? You're four years older than me, dude, that's all…where's this older generation crap coming from?"

"That…that's where it's coming from…" He circled a finger in front of Sam's nose. "…look at that face…kid who's just lost his puppy…that's what that is…Now come on, Sammy, we're on a deadline here." With that, he stalked off towards the wall leaving Sam to watch him go. Making a valiant effort to walk with long strides, he managed to proceed without swaying or tripping over his own feet, despite using up every last ounce of his strength and determination.

Sam ran to catch him and they arrived at the wall together. As he bent, offering linked fingers as a step, he breathed a sigh of relief when Dean placed one boot on his hands. He hoisted him up and over with ease and then looked up to see his brother reaching a hand down for him. But he looked exhausted. Hell, they hadn't even made it to the house yet and he looked dead on his feet. Sam ignored the hand and just smiled, pointing downwards. "Giraffe legs…or have you forgotten?"

ooooooo

Mackenzie did well, far better than he'd expected actually.

He made it all the way to the outer car park and past the row of garages before he was picked up. The two heavies sent for him were familiar, one at least he was sure used to call him 'Mr Mackenzie'. But now he was little more than cannon fodder to Gustav's men…_how times had changed_. Standing still he watched both hulks as they stalked him…they probably hadn't had orders to 'not damage the merchandise' as Dean would say, so there was nothing to be gained by pushing his luck.

"Professor Mackenzie? Father Gustav wants to see you, now." It wasn't a request, and as the two huge men flanked him, holding his arms tight in huge meaty fists, Mackenzie only then started to realise how many things could potentially go wrong with this plan.

They marched across the gravel of the car park and entered the huge house by the side kitchen door. Mac was manhandled into the living room and into a dining chair, secured by his wrists to the wooden arms and then left to his own devices.

He'd been in this living room before, and he remembered it well, furnished in late Victorian reproduction and surrounded in a formation of the tallest bookcases he'd ever seen. The shelves stretching on endlessly, heavy with tome after tome of large and impressive leather bound books. They gave the impression they'd been bought for their ability to match the décor rather than what was between the covers. _Much like the bodyguards._ Now he sat facing those same books, his back to the door, and his mind screaming about how big a mistake it had been to listen to one of Dean Winchester's plans.

ooooooo

Dean landed hard on the ground, crouching behind a cluster of low bushes and thin trees that provided instant camouflage along the grounds perimeter. As soon as Sam dropped next to him, they both stilled as they heard shouting voices and running feet heading towards the front of the house, signalling that Mackenzie had been discovered…they'd been hoping for a little more time but…

As soon as the voices were distant enough, both hunters started out at a run, Sam purposefully slowing his pace, heading steadily for the row of detached garages along the back of the house. With Dean concealed in the doorframe and Sam ducked down by the side panel of a dark blue Cadillac parked out front, they both stopped to catch a breath.

Then Dean glanced through the small piece of decorative glass mounted in the door and almost yelped.

Startled by the strange noise Sam swung round, looking to his brother and saw him pointing and gesturing madly, mouthed something unintelligible and almost jumping up and down on the spot like a kid who'd just discovered a full Christmas stocking at the end of his bed. He was desperately trying to get his brother's attention…and Sam could only assume that he'd found his girl.

Holding up a hand, Sam pointed index and middle finger towards his own eyes…and then to the big house. Dean nodded profusely, smiling like a clown as he chanced another look through the tiny sheet of glass. When he looked back his brother was still staring at him and pointing, this time right at Dean…and it was accompanied by a piercing frown that willed him to understand…as Sam made a fist and shook it.

Dean's smile faded somewhat and was replaced by cool appraisal as he understood exactly what the _'stay put or else'_ hand gesture coming from his brother had meant. He nodded stiffly, but just the once. Then he watched as Sam held close to the ground and loped off towards the house, all his attention focused on staying hidden.

Once he was round the corned Dean turned back to the door. He could just as easily _'stay put'_ inside, couldn't he?

A moment later and the door was hanging from one hinge, a casualty of the swift kick that possibly wasn't Dean's most stealthy move, but was effective none the less. And as far as he was concerned , it was energy well spent.

As he stepped over the threshold, he gasped…this was like no other garage he'd ever seen. The walls were a pale cream whitewash with not a cobweb in sight and the floor was so well swept he doubted there was a spot of dust on it. The array of tools was meticulously displayed along the back wall in a decorative exhibition of metalwork that made him salivate. This was no garage; it was a car showroom, a heaven where all good muscle cars go once they were scrapped…if they'd been good girls that is.

But what drew his attention…what beckoned him home, was the sight of his baby, sitting waiting to be rescued. She was resplendent and shining, which meant someone had given her a polish and that made him bilious.

He laid a protective hand on her bonnet. So they'd both been manhandled by these _freakazoids_…and payback was gonna be a bitch called Winchester. He ran gentle fingers along the black skin and halted as he reached the trunk, holding his breath and not daring to hope…but with a reassuring click it swung open. They hadn't even bothered to lock her…_amateurs._

With a slight tinge of embarrassment at having been taken by these jerks in the first place, he let his fingers find the catch that unlocked the hidden weapons compartment, smiling broadly as it opened to reveal the full array of firearms, crossbows, blades, throwing knives and ammunition. They hadn't found the weapons either…Jeez!

He was feasting on the sight of their stash when a noise outside made him pause. He quickly palmed a blade and dropped low, closing the lid of the trunk as quietly as he could. Someone was taking an interest in the broken door and if it was anyone but Sam, he may be in trouble. Ducking down behind the big rear end of his girl, he caught a glimpse of his visitor, a huge bear in a black monkey suit and patent leather shoes that made his feet look too big for his body.

Definitely not his brother then.

ooooooo

Sam was an expert at not getting spotted, and for a man of his size that was quite a feat. John had drummed into both boys that to be invisible you didn't need to hide, you just needed to know exactly where the enemy was and stay out of their line of sight and both boys had taken that lesson to heart. Moving swiftly from one place of concealment to the next, he could sense almost every movement in the grounds. He watched as two burly men in black jackets exited through the majestic front door, climbed into a car and moved off slowly up the drive…good, that was two less to deal with later.

Leaving the front of the house behind him, he successfully made his way undetected along the East wing and then progressed with the same caution along the South. He checked the shape and layout of the building as he went against the mental map the professor had supplied, moving quickly and efficiently from window to window. And he found Nancy in the fourth room along the South wall, alone and lying on her back on a narrow bed. Her face was turned away and she was deathly still but Sam was relieved to make out the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

He couldn't help but smile as he noted the old style sash window, all he'd need was a knife…shouldn't take more than ten seconds to open with the right blade…covering the ground swiftly, he started on his way back to the garage and his brother.

oOo

TBC


	11. Chapter 11 A knee in the happy sacs

The Rapture 

Chapter 11 – A knee in the happy sacs usually works wonders!

_The main garage__s_

_The 'Bastion' Lancaster_

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 17:45_

ooooooo

As Dean dropped below the edge of the trunk lid, he caught a quick glance of the face of his visitor and grimaced. He knew this man. This was Wayne's buddy, the dude whose breath could strip paint off a fence at twenty paces and who'd already suffered a Winchester special with little effect. And a knee in the happy sacs usually worked wonders, it would have floored most men for at least a day. In a fair fight this guy would be a challenge, and Dean knew beyond all doubt that in his current state he wouldn't stand a chance, which left only one option…fight dirty.

He waited till his prey was level with the trunk; till he could see his own reflection in those patent leather shoes and then he slammed down with as much force as he could muster, driving the honed blade thought the leather and into gristle and bone. There was no scream of pain, just a gasp of genuine surprise from the huge man as he crunched forwards, landing heavily on his side and grasping at his ankle with both hands, clawing for the blade. Eyes wide and swivelling in his head, he floundered on the ground like a giant fish out of water, the pain of his severed toes short-circuiting his brain until his eyes fell on a familiar face.

A face that he recognised….it was the face of the man he'd manhandled from the trunk of the very car he was now bleeding next to…and that face was wearing one evil looking smile.

ooooooo

Sam concealed himself in the dense foliage growing to the left of the row of garages and became aware of two things. First, contrary to instructions and to any desire for self preservation, Dean had not stayed put and waited for Sam, but had actually worked his way into the garage and was currently involved in what sounded like an urgent and heated debate with someone inside, and secondly…the noise was attracting attention. Two meaty looking bodyguard types were taking more than a passing interest and as they walked through the broken door swinging gently on its one remaining bracket, he saw them straighten and move more assertively, obviously having someone in their sights.

There was no time to wait, they were heading for Dean.

Breaking his cover he launched in full sprint and barrelled through the door, taking the rear Neanderthal clean off his feet and following him to the ground. The first man swung round at the noise just in time to see his partner fall, ridden down by what looked like a gigantic floppy haired kid, and hitting the ground with a sickening crunch of skull on concrete. But he just stared open mouthed at the sight; unable to comprehend how things had suddenly shifted so they were no longer in his favour. And that was his downfall.

With lightning speed, Sam was back on his feet and threw the first hook, slicing through the air and landing like a tonne weight on its target…shifting his jawbone out of whack and showering his eyes with little flashes of light.

In his periphery he could see Dean clambering over a hulking body and driving a harsh elbow into it's throat…but then he returned his attention to the sac of muscles in front of him. The man had sagged at the knees giving Sam the perfect target and he took it with relish. Grabbing a handful of hair he dragged his foot along the floor and drove his knee through cheek bone, watching as the muscular body crumbled to his side in slow motion.

Taking just a second to dust himself off, Sam turned to his brother still lying on the floor and registered the look of pure admiration on his face. "So, you gonna lay around all day…or are we gonna go save the girl?"

"You found her?"

"Yup, and it looks like you found the other one." He nodded to the car and then to the three crowded bodies heaped on the ground. "So, any bright ideas about what we do with them?"

ooooooo

The door made no noise as it opened, only a faint breeze gave away that anyone had entered at all, until the clipped European accent made Mackenzie shudder.

"I'm sorry for having to use the living room; the parlour is occupied at the moment…" Mac gulped loudly at the sound of Gustav voice from behind him. "I decided not to wait until midnight after all and Nancy is waiting for me…so I hope you will forgive me if this seems a little rushed."

The slow footsteps moved closer until Mac knew the priest was standing directly behind him. He shut his eyes tight as the cold sweat started to bead on his upper lip.

Gustav spoke with deceptively gentleness, his arms clasped behind his back, he gradually inched his way around the chair until he was facing his captive. "Earl, this is a poor excuse for a rescue, if indeed that's what it is? My men spotted you the moment you looked through the bars of my gate…And I'm not sure exactly what it is you feel Nancy needs rescuing from?"

Mac said nothing, just continued to sit in silence as the priest slowly circled his chair…Dean had been VERY specific. '_The less you say, the less you can give away, so you say NOTHING'._

"Come now Earl, why this silence…you and I used to be friends once." Gustav leaned forward, his breath brushing Mackenzie's ear. "But now it looks like you have other friends…I don't think for a moment you planned and executed that little disaster in the Library all by yourself, so who do you have working with you Earl?"

Mackenzie sat frozen, avoiding the silver blue of the priest eyes and forced his thoughts to Nancy. This was for her, he had to remember that, it was all for her. And no matter what was to follow, if it gave those Winchester boys enough time to spirit her away – it would be worth it.

ooooooo

The blade slid into the gap between the window and the frame and flicked open the sash. Quietly, the bottom pane slid upwards and Sam eased in through the gap, creeping into the room softly like a cat burglar. A few seconds later and Dean handed him their weapons and then followed, the soft groan escaping his lips as loud as an alarm in Sam's ear.

He looked over his shoulder at his brother's tired face but Dean just opened his hands in response, palms upwards – shrugging. "What? WHAT?"

Shaking his head sullenly, Sam headed to the bed, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye as he staggered to the door and took up sentry position. There was no way he was going to be able to handle another sprint across the grounds, not the way he was looking. He stared down at Nancy laying still and silent, her face pale and relaxed in what looked like a deep sleep. He touched her face but got no response. Scooping her up, he cradled her body against his chest but then paused... something obviously on his mind.

"Dean – need you to stay here, keep an eye, y'know…?"

"What?" He spoke softly, his ear still pressed hard against the door.

"Stay in here and keep your eyes open, but don't go anywhere before I get back, okay?" He watched Dean shrug and ignore him. "Dean…"

"Dude…What?" Harsher this time.

"Stay here…but don't go doing something dumb like you did in the garage, okay?" He waited for Dean to look at him in the eye before raising his brows questioningly.

"Whatever, now do you think you could get gone – so you can get back here – and we can finish up some time today?"

"Ten minutes, max…" Sam watched his brother nod and finally turned to the window, within seconds he was gone.

As silence descended over the bedroom, Dean could make out a distant voice drifting through the wood, very muffled but eerily familiar. It was Gustav…he was sure of that. As he stood and listened to the melodic tones of that very familiar and haunting voice, Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt the anger well up from deep inside at the invasion he'd suffered, at the abuse Nancy had gone through…and with no other thought than 'payback's a bitch' on his mind, he opened the door and headed straight for that voice.

ooooooo

The priest stood tall and rocked slightly on the balls of his feet, arching his brows dramatically. "Looks like I will have to find out for myself then. But maybe I can use a man like you after all. I have been impressed by your ruthlessness, you're certainly not the passive little impotent college professor you purport to be, are you?" He hadn't made a move towards Mackenzie yet, enjoying the look of terror fighting its way for dominance over his face.

Gustav smiled once and with renewed purpose walked behind the chair. He could feel the fear in this man, taste his dread.

The professor had his own painful experience of the Rapture, but he'd also had countless occasions to witness Gustav work his gift. It was a harrowing experience for all involved and he held his breath as he felt the first gentle touch of the priest's fingers on his temples.

ooooooo

Sam laid Nancy gently along the back seat of the Impala, leaning her on her left side and folding her arms over her chest. To the casual observer she was no more than asleep, just resting after a particularly hard day, but he knew that wasn't the case. He still didn't know exactly what'd been done to her or how long it would take her to recover, but could only hope Mackenzie would be able to shed some light on it, to help her just like he'd helped Dean.

Mackenzie…The thought of the professor fuelled him; he was still in that house somewhere and was their next rescue mission. Sam left the car and moved with renewed purpose to the tiny stockroom door, checking that the padlock was still intact and there was no noise from inside. He hadn't expected any, the room was a windowless hole, perfect for their needs and although it'd been a tight squeeze they'd managed to fit all three bodies in the small utilities cupboard, piled one on top of the other in one huge sweaty tangle of limbs, spit and blood.

With one last look around, he left the garage and sprinted back to the house.

ooooooo

Mackenzie held his breath, a bead of sweat inching its way down his brow as he waited for the touch of those fingers. He expected pain; in fact he expected anguish to rival anything he'd ever experienced in his life.

What he didn't expect, was the familiar deep voice – with that almost hidden Texan twang – drifting from behind him.

"You just don't know when to keep those greasy little paws to yourself, do you, _padre_?"

Gustav jumped, almost losing his balance as he spun around to see who had invaded this most private of occasions. He didn't manage to hide his surprise very well. "You? How did…?" Looking at the man standing just inside the door, he fought to compose himself, dragging a hand down his mouth in a rare show of trepidation as he hissed out the word. "Winchester."

"One and the same." Dean raised the crossbow and aimed it right at Gustav's heart, his hand as steady as one of those foundation rocks the priest had been foolish enough to mess with in his head…he tilted his chin towards the weapon.

"A crossbow, how imaginative." Gustav appraised him slowly.

"Shows my flare for the dramatic, and don't forget it'll hurt like a bitch. I found my car by the way; real glad you didn't mess with her, cos that would have made me very angry. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry…" he grinned at Gustav's discomfort. "…I don't go green and my shirt doesn't fall off or anything, but I think you understand what I'm trying to say here, right?"

Ever the showman, the priest stood tall, a mask of calmness and serenity descending over his face. "Still a little unsteady on those legs, Dean?"

"Don't worry about me, Gussy; you really need to be a whole lot more worried about yourself at the moment."

"Worried about what exactly…You? One little man trying to take on a whole bodyguard force, all by himself?…Still trying to walk in daddy's footsteps, boy?"

"Ah…Yes, your bodyguards, about them…funny thing. You'll find them locked in the garage, the one where my car used to be…can I just ask, you hired them for their looks, right cos as far as I could see, they're all sharing the one same brain cell."

For the first time during the exchange, the priest was starting to feel concern. If this damaged man had been able to take on six heavily armed bodyguards by himself and was still standing…clearly he'd underestimated Dean Winchester.

"So you have come to claim this man?" he gestured to Mackenzie who wrenched his neck, desperate to see what was going on behind him. "And the girl too I suppose…but do you really know what you will be depriving them of? Do you even know what goes on here?"

Dean's face hardened, his eyes narrowing. "I'll tell you what I know Gussy. I know you're just a man, nothing more, nothing less. You sold your soul and, boy, I gotta tell you…that never ends well."

"Sold my soul…?" The laugh gurgled up from the priest's belly, loud and bellowing. When he finally calmed enough to speak his voice boomed out like a Shakespearian actor addressing his audience. "…I didn't sell my soul, boy, I was given one. I am the holiest of the holy, the new bringer of healing to a world where pain and suffering thrive…and there is still time for you, Winchester; you can still taste of this. Still experience the joys of the Rapture and go about your life with enhanced abilities…" The priest stretched out his arms towards Dean, gazing at him as though he were once again an errant child, waiting as if expecting the hunter to ask for forgiveness. "…no more pain and with your anguish stripped away, replaced by something useful. Think how beneficial your gift would be in your world. You would be a superhuman, fighting and wining against the sub-human…what true hunter would pass up an opportunity like that?"

ooooooo

The window was still ajar and Sam clambered in easily, then swore heavily under his breath as he found the room empty, except for his shotgun by the bed where he'd left it. There was no sign of Dean anywhere but he knew if he'd left by the window he'd have seen him in the grounds.

Creeping to the door, gun held tight in hand, Sam pushed it open and cautiously peeked through the gap. The hallway was deserted. As he crept along the edge of the wall, the only sound he could hear was the squeak of his own rubber soled shoes against the polished wooden floor, until he made out voices. They were low and grumbling to start with but getting gradually louder and more intense as he got nearer the room at the end of the hall, and he felt sure he heard the deep resonant timbre of his brother's voice coming from behind that door.

ooooooo

Dean's mouth creased but it wasn't a smile. "I think you've messed with enough peoples heads for one day, priest. I'm gonna guess that apart from all the freaky 'getting inside peoples heads' thing you got going on, you're still just a man…and a man of the cloth at that, which I gotta say Gussy, makes this a whole load worse in my book…"

Gustav was moving again, backing up towards the wall, away from the chair that held the professor, his eyes never leaving Dean. "You are nothing more than a child, and like all children you need to be instructed, disciplined." With his back to the wall, he stretched both arms wide. "Maybe once you have seen, you will understand." His head suddenly craned backwards at such a harsh angle Dean could no longer see his face, but he knew something big and bad was going down and a timely exit was called for.

Quickly making his way over to the chair he untied one of Mackenzie's wrists and would have undone the second, had reality not chosen that precise moment to unravel with a thunderous cacophony of ear splitting sound, and a light as bright as staring into the sun. The deafening crash sent shock waves surging through the room as both men huddled behind the sparse protection of the dining chair, shielding their eyes while Mackenzie twisted and grasped at the one rope still holding his wrist in place. The light was blinding him but he could feel Dean holding on to his arm and trying to shield him from the worst of it, and then he heard him shout.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Dean could barely hear his own voice over the booming roll of noise and didn't dare open his eyes for fear of having his retinas burnt to a crisp...but he heard Mackenzie's shouted response loud and clear.

"IT'S THE RAPTURE, HE'S OPENING IT HERE"

oOo

TBC

Just the last chapter left guys…hope you're all still enjoying…XX Louy


	12. Chapter 12 Cut that kinda close

Please forgive the late post – I promised this yesterday but the RW has a way of invading sometimes – and it did, with abandon. So, I'm sorry to keep you waiting and hope it doesn't ruin the ending for you. XX Louy

The Rapture

Chapter 12 – Cut that kinda close, don't ya think?

_The residence of Father Karl Gustav_

_The 'Bastion', Lancaster._

_Wednesday April 9__th__ 18:42_

ooooooo

Sam hit the door shoulder first.

He heard the satisfying crunch of wood giving under his weight as it splintered open. The tidal wave of noise from inside hit him like a blast of frigid air almost knocking him clean off his feet. Keeping eyes half closed to protect against the glare, Sam went to ground, rolling to the side, keeping one hand braced against the wall to get his bearings. It took a few seconds to be able to make out more than just dark shapes, but once he could he saw the source of the problem straight away.

The tall priest stood almost casually, arms relaxed by his side, an amused smile playing across thin lips. He was surrounded by a halo of silver light that followed the contours of his outline like a glimmering aura.

"Dean? DEAN" Sam could barely hear his own voice let alone any reply as the noise in the room swelled and burst over him. With the noise drowning out all but his thoughts, he looked up at the priest again.

On anyone else the saintly halo of untainted light would have looked beautiful – but as dark hooded eyes looked up from a shadowy downcast face, a face creased with arrogance and pride; this cleric looked nothing less than a vision of true evil.

Books cascaded down from their shelves as loose papers flew in the whirlwind, the pictures knocked against the walls and even the floorboards rattled under the thick pile carpet. As the thunderous noise continued, the light bled away from Gustav's silhouette in tiny flares like miniature sunburst of glowing plasma. But there was no heat; it was stone cold as the grave and getting colder. Sam could see the breath cloud from his mouth in puffs of mist as he gasped for air. He twisted his head and scanned the room, searching for his brother and for the other voice that he was sure had been Mackenzie. When he saw them he froze.

Mac was slumped on the floor, but still tied to the chair by one wrist, and he struggled against that bond like a rabid animal. His fear filled eyes never left the priest or the undulating light gradually working its way across the floor towards him. Dean was crouching next to him; one arm thrown across Mackenzie's chest in an instinctive gesture of protection while the other lifted the crossbow and loosed a heavy bolt that hit its mark perfectly…hit Gustav full in the chest. An injury like that would have floored a normal man, but the priest merely stumbled back one step as the thick stunted arrow forced its way into his breastbone. Then he looked up and smiled and for the first time noticed Sam – and he recognized him.

This was the boy who'd been protected by the hunter, the boy who he'd been prevented from having access too. The one hidden and cosseted and who'd finally been shrouded by layers of dusty light. That game had amused him at first...the thought that Dean's broken mind still held enough strength to hide this young man from him…but later, with hindsight, he'd regretted not pursuing it, not taking the final step and demolishing that frail attempt to fight once and for all.

But no matter, because here he was – a brother – yes, that tasted right, a brother.So, maybe there would be two new additions to his army…not just one.

Gustav's smile was one of slow satisfaction. This had been only the first stage of the Rapture, the gentle part, just the cool caress against hot flesh – but now it was time to take it up a notch or two. As he started to mutter under his breath with ghostly pale wisps of condensation trickling through his lips, the light behind him intensified…molded to his shape, swathed him in its cold embrace. Then, with long sensorial tendrils, it expanded drinking in the room, feeling its way blindly, curiously touching every surface and leaving an icy film as evidence of where it had been.

Behind him, the light transmuted from silver to an explosion of colour that contained the entire spectrum. It stretched outwards through the wall at Gustav's back and into the far distance…a swirling vortex of colour, bright yellows and ambers twisting around and fading as they reached darkest velvet black. _The Rapture was open._

It sensed the heat from the bodies on the ground and headed for them, exploring and tasting as it went and Mackenzie saw it coming. He scrambled around on the floor desperate to get clear of the tongues of light bleeding from the priest. But it sought him and found him, wrapping a soft caress round his ankle and instantly tightening to a deathly grip. It drew him back, pulling harder until the only thing halting his painful progress was the rope holding his wrist to the arm of the chair – and Dean – who was now laying belly down on the ground, both arms wrapped around Mac's neck and underarm, shouting something unintelligible and looking like he was trying to strangle him rather than save his life.

They were stuck in an endless tug of war with Mackenzie as the prize; the tentacles gaining more ground all the time as Dean gradually lost his strength. Sam watched him twist on the ground and look for purchase; he also saw the handgun tucked in the back of Dean's waistband. Without thinking he struck out grabbing the gun and in one swift move had disengaged the safety, rolled over onto his side and was aiming straight at the priest – and he felt no remorse when he pulled the trigger.

He could see the crossbow bolt sticking out of Gustav's chest and that's where he aimed, firing eight times in quick succession. Eight times the priest stumbled, each hit sending him faltering backwards arms flailing wildly with every impact, and with every jolt the light withdrew a little more, weaving around its host in a protective cocoon.

Sam could see behind the priest and inside the Rapture now, a shimmering silver edged tunnel, dancing with flecks of pulsating color, throbbing too and fro as powers and energies collided and were exchanged – and it was searching – reaching out for warm bodies and icy souls, penetrating its surroundings hunting the food it craved, the negative feelings and dark emotions that would sustain it.

As the priest faltered, Sam saw his chance. He slit the last remaining restraint with his hunting knife and caught Mac as his wrist was released and he tumbled the short distance to the ground.

"Move…MOVE" The growled order that emanated from deep in Sam's throat was worthy of John Winchester himself, and he propelled Mackenzie out of the door and along the corridor with no quarter for argument, just as the tentacles of light resumed their search for flesh.

Dean's energy was failing fast and he didn't complain as his brother wrapped supportive fingers around his arm and held on. "Nice timing, bro…" Sam pulled him to his feet, one arm looped under his shoulder, the other at the side of his belt. Then they were running fast, and heading for the main door just one short stride behind the professor, Sam dragging his stumbling older brother through the corridor.

Gustav saw them move, he saw his prizes evade and escape him and his brow furrowed.

This would not do, it would not do at all. With all his strength and willpower he sent the Rapture after them, pressing his joined essence out into the corridor, the tentacles of light sweeping the floor like a pack of blood hounds scenting their quarry – and then they paused.

Gustav tried again, willing them to chase their prey, to do his bidding…but instead of following the three escaping prisoners, the glowing feelers retraced their tracks, returning to the place they'd been born and for a moment Gustav felt nothing but anger, a huge and all encompassing burning rage. He was losing control; it wasn't listening to him anymore.

The thought suddenly screamed in his mind…there's nothing for it to take? What happens if there's nothing for it to take…? _It has a gift to give, and no-one to give it to._

The glow from behind him that up till now had followed him around the room like a shadow made of white light, shrank away like an ebbing tide before the tsunami, and for a moment there was blessed silence.

Then, Father Karl Gustav knew fear. And that's when the Rapture took him.

Burrowing into his flesh, feeding like a huge maggot on a fetid carcass, it devoured what it touched and it wanted so much more. Forcing in through the holes left by the bullets, it sought the warmth and pain from inside this conduit, tasted it and consumed it. There was no exchange, this time the Rapture had been spurned. It tasted anger, and that rage merged with its own, darkening its true essence even further.

With a gasp of shocked outrage, Gustavlooked to his left shoulder, the source of the worst of his pain, and saw the flesh tear as the ball was forced from its socket…and all he could think of was his favorite wall hanging in the library summoning room…the one that depicted a man hung, drawn and quartered…and the look on his face at the moment of death, captured for posterity in those fine threads.

And that was Gustav's last thought as he started to come undone, fodder for the Rapture as it quenched its hunger in a feeding frenzy of blood and meat.

oooooo

Sam couldn't hear anything above the high pitched whine in his ears, the experience of the maelstrom had blasted his senses beyond their threshold. He could taste the bitter tang of swollen flesh in his mouth; he must have taken a hit at some point. His body was starting to complain, his muscles aching under Dean's extra weight but he didn't pause till they were outside the main door and breathing fresh air.

Mackenzie was shouting and gesturing wildly but the best Sam could do was lip read. "I'm not leaving without Nancy; I won't leave her here again."

"She's already in the car." He nodded towards the garage and set off at a jog, still half carrying his brother as his feet skimmed along the ground.

Dean was becoming a dead weight; every reserve of his earlier energy was used up and not replaced. With the fingers of one hand clenched tight in Sam's jacket, he did his best to keep up with his brother's long stride but he felt like he was wading through deep snow, each step becoming harder and he grimaced as his muscles trembled in protest.

All around them the ground was tearing itself to pieces, the house buckled and shook as roofing tiles crashed to the ground barely missing them. Whole walls were folding in on themselves as deep rifts opened up in the concrete and lawn, swallowing the trees and carefully landscaped shrubbery as though morsels to be eaten. The perimeter wall was next, crumbling under the onslaught as though made from parched sand.

Sam could hear very little but he could see enough. People were running in every direction and paying them no heed, some making for vehicles, others running up the drive on foot all eager to escape the building slowly committing suicide behind them. They had to get to the garage... _fast._

Pushing onwards on shaking legs, Sam hoisted his brother through the small door and lent him up against the trunk of the Impala. Then he raced to the side wall, hitting the button that raised the electric door and tore back to Dean's side, catching him just before he slid to the ground.

"M'okay Smmy, quit worrying bout me." His feeble attempts to bat Sam's hand away looked comical, but his eyes were glazing over as he spoke and Sam had to keep a hand on his head as he pushed him into the passenger seat. The fact that he wasn't complaining said more about his state of mind than his exhausted tone ever could, but the youngest Winchester had escape on his mind and couldn't afford to be sidetracked.

The garage door rose painfully slow but with Mackenzie in the back holding Nancy, and Dean propped in the passenger seat, Sam eased the big black car out as soon as it could squeeze through the tight space and pressed down hard on the accelerator making their way up the drive in a hail of loose gravel and debris. The gate was still locked but hanging away from the wall, canted at a sickening angle, and it was clear someone had already driven through the rubble that used to be the wall beside it. Slowing to a crawl and ignoring the cacophony of noise behind them, Sam maneuvered the Impala through the rubble and out onto the main road before he slowed to a stop and chanced a look back.

When they did, they saw the effects of the Rapture. The whole structure of the house was folding in on itself, the walls turning to rubble before their eyes as it shuddered and gave its final death rattle. More tiles were flying from the roof and crashing to the ground as the chimneys and parapets collapsed, allowing a huge column to blaze upwards towards the sky in a towering plume of color and light. And at the top, a dark velvety storm cloud was forming like a mushroom over the grounds, turning the sky the color of a purple bruise.

"Damn, Sammy…cut that kinda close don't ya think?"

The ringing in Sam's ears was not fading fast, but he still made out his brother's tired words, when he looked at him, he saw Dean staring at the incredible sight behind them with a half moon grin and cosseted eyes. He looked like the kid who'd just hit the home run. As Sam's thundering heartbeat started to slow, he peeled the car away from the disaster still unfolding, gunned the engine and left the 'Bastion' and it's residents far behind.

oOo

_The Early Riser Motel and Steak Emporium_

_79 East Way, Lancaster._

_Friday April 11__th__ 10:45_

ooooooo

It took less than a day for the local papers to jump to their own conclusions and print a whole pack of bizarre explanations for the incidents that took place on Wednesday night, and by Friday, the traumatized little town was grasping at straws.

A few were saying a bomb had gone off in the 'Bastion' destroying the house and killing the occupants. Some believed a terrorist siege had taken place and had been covered up by government officials – and others suggested that the number of strange men dressed in black suits suddenly fleeing the area was a clear indication that the whole thing had been a conspiracy – probably to do with UFO's.

But by far the most common theory was that the 'Bastion' had been a cover for a 'Wako' style cult, and what had happened was some kind of suicide pact…_ 'after all it'd happened in Texas, no reason why it couldn't happen here'..._and it may just do wonders for the dwindling tourist trade in their sleepy little town.

The official line however was that a freak earthquake had hit the region, decimating a select area in the outskirts, and that seemed as good a story as any.

The motel Mackenzie booked them into was nicer than their usual haunt and it was a good thing too, none of them were keen to desert the town until they knew it was over, and they were also less than keen to return to Mackenzie's house. But then, he'd no intention of ever going back there.

And this morning things were looking up, Nancy was finally awake. She'd slept for the best part of a day, but now she was alert and looking at the faces around her with a mixture of interest and confusion. In her mind, she couldn't quite put her finger on who they were or what they wanted, but they were kind enough. And every now and again she'd catch a glimpse of something. A gesture or a word that would bring to life a fleeting memory of a time that felt like long ago. She hadn't spoken yet, just nodded once when her uncle had asked if she was thirsty…again when he asked if she needed the bathroom. But at least she seemed content in a fashion.

Dean had also slept but unlike Nancy, once he woke there was no stopping him. He was a man on a mission, heading out to his baby and dragging soft cloths and wax from the trunk, then getting to work, and the more he polished, the better he felt.

Leaving Nancy to rest in their motel room, Mackenzie walked out to the carport where Dean was slowly circling the warm metal.

He heard the professor's footfalls and looked up, briefly catching his eye. "How's she doing?"

"More awake but still just looks confused…" Mackenzie pushed his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the younger man work.

"Give her time…" Dean straightened and looked at the cloth in his hands thoughtfully. "…it's like all the pieces are there but there just not in the right order, y'know?" He winced a little at the remembrance of his own muddled mind.

"How are you? Still feeling weak?"

Dean barked a laugh at that. "Winchesters don't do weak; Mac…thought you would have figured that one out by now." He went back to the job of polishing the dirty fingerprints off his girl.

"Yeah, I think maybe I have." Mackenzie paused for a moment, almost like he was unsure of how to proceed. "I'm going to help her. I'd decided not to use it ever again, but I think…just this once, for Nancy."

Dean paused. "Is that right?" He sniffed loudly; he knew what it meant to let someone invade his mind regardless of the reason. But he had to wonder if he'd even be standing if Mackenzie hadn't 'repaired' him. "Just once, huh…Think your gonna be able to stop yourself?"

Mackenzie stared into the distance wistfully. "I'd rather not indulge even this once if truth be told…but at the moment I don't see any alternative…and as for never using it again? I don't think that will be a problem."

"Glad to hear that Mac…" Dean bent lower over the gleaming metal and started to work the polish in earnest. "…cos if you did, well, we'd be forced to pay you a little visit sooner than you might like, if you get my drift." Dean glanced up, locking eyes with the older man, making sure there wasn't a hint of a smile on his face.

For a moment an icy finger traced a lazy trail down Mac's spine and he returned the young hunters stare but only for the fleetest moment. A change of subject was clearly in order and he breathed a sigh of relief when Sam turned the corner with a cardboard tray full of cups of coffee, a paper bag from the bakers in his hands and a copy of the local paper under his arm. As he got closer he frowned and tossed the paper in Dean's direction.

"Says here that so far they've dragged four bodies from the remains of the house but none of the descriptions match Gustav whose whereabouts are still unknown….also say's the fissure stretches down four hundred feet at its deepest…oh, and there's a new theory, someone thinks the house was hit by a meteor."

Dean pushed the paper aside and snorted in disgust. "Idiots…they'd never sleep again if they knew the truth."

"Hmmm, probably best that they don't then, huh". He looked Dean over. "Y'okay dude? Head still bad?"

"Be a whole lot better if you'd get off my case and pass that java, we haven't got all day here."

Again Mackenzie almost smirked at the interaction, these two were so unlike the cool calm professional hunters he'd come to know and respect. "So, do you and your brother think this has happened before?"

Sam shrugged. "It's possible…This could have been the catalyst for every crazy dictators on the planet for all we know. They were all just humans driven mad with power and control…History is littered with them…Hitler, Mussolini, and Rasputin…" Sam paused as he heard his brother whistle through his teeth.

"Are you shitting me? You don't really think that Rasputin and Gustav…" He paused, suddenly thinking that maybe it wasn't such a strange idea after all. Kinda freaky, yeah, but certainly believable. Not any more. "You trying to tell me we may have just halted some 'Ming the Merciless' without even knowing it?"

"Just saying it's possible."

Dean seemed to evaluate this in his mind for a moment and then nodded solemnly. "Cool, gonna go get cleaned up. We need to be thinking about hitting the road, Sammy".

Knocking back a glug of scalding black tar, Dean ambled back towards the motel, stuffing the waxy cloth into the back pocket of his Jeans. It wasn't till he was well out of earshot that Sam spoke to Mackenzie again.

"So, how many others are out there? Others with powers like yours from the Rapture? How many are we talking about?"

The professor looked at the floor. "Half a dozen at least, and those are only the ones I know about."

Sam ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "We should do something about them…"

"They're just people, Sam…People who've made mistakes…A whole load of us have." He stared at the gleaming skin of the black car; waiting for the younger man to answer…knowing deep down that the greatest mistakes in this whole sorry situation had been made by him.

Sam eyed him cautiously, almost as though he'd read his mind. "Yeah I know."

"You don't want to talk about this in front of your brother, do you?"

Sam pursed his lips, looking back to the motel door. "Probably best not to…"

Then it was the professors turn to smile. "So, does schizophrenia run in your family?"

"You don't want to know what runs in our family, trust me."

"So where will you two head?"

"There's a few new hunts were looking into, some may come to nothing but there's always something new."

"And are they all…like this?"

"You mean are they all going head to head with some freaky-assed cleric who climbs around inside people's heads sucking out all the best bits…? Nah…not so much."

"But I'm assuming that your brother…he still manages to piss off the bad guys just as much every time."

Sam smile was wide and full of genuine emotion. "You got that right; no one can piss off the bad guy like Dean…" He shook his head slowly at the thought of his brother's innate talent for speaking his mind and slowly turned, making his way past Mackenzie and heading to the motel. He had bags to pack…it was time to hit the road.

The End

To everyone who read, reviewed, left a comment, e-mailed me, and helped me improve this story - thank you very much! XX Louy


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